


Banned Book Week

by verboseDescription



Series: To The Moon and Back [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Avatar!Basira, Avatar!Daisy, EDS Gerry, Established Relationship, Eye!Tim, Fix-It, HoH Tim, Implied Eye Trauma, In Which The Author Rewrites S4, POTS Gerry, Police Brutality, also tim and martin are latine because so am i, daisy and basira will be held accountable for their actions with or without the coffin, i'm going to make all of my favorites jewish thats my right as a jew, mentioned not overt, mentions of past cancer, minor OCs - Freeform, wheel of fortune voice: its time. to BURN!!! THE!! ARCHIVES!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 120,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verboseDescription/pseuds/verboseDescription
Summary: The Unknowing has been stopped and miraculously, Tim's still alive. But the Institute's still standing, which means he isn't free. But Gerry has to believe that there's a way to leave all of this behind. Not just for him and Tim, but all of Tim's friends, too. And now that they've got Gertrude's tapes, freshly stolen from the office of Elias Bouchard, they'll figure something out.Or: Gerry saves the Archives from themselves
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Tim Stoker, Gerry Keay & the Archives Staff
Series: To The Moon and Back [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715521
Comments: 138
Kudos: 149





	1. a strong acid, precisely applied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banned book this week: MAG 154

The cop seemed cool, but she was making him nervous. Not because she was a cop, though years of skulking around where he wasn’t wanted had made Gerry a bit hesitant to speak to law enforcement, even if she had quit. No, the thing that worried him was that she had come out of the Unknowing with barely a scratch on her.

Well, “barely a scratch” might have been a bit of an exaggeration. There had been a lot of scratches, actually, and she had broken an ankle and sprained a wrist. And all that had just been from getting thrown to the ground from the blast. But she hadn't been caught in the actual explosion. Not like Jon and Tim, who had both broken a limb and bruised at least one rib each. Even with their concussions, they had gotten lucky. At least no one had mentioned anything permanent yet, like hearing loss. Or, they hadn't mentioned it to Gerry, anyways.

Whatever the exact diagnoses were, Jon and Tim were still sleeping off the painkillers they’d been given while Basira was clearheaded. And, more worryingly, already discharged. If that wasn’t a sign of the eye, Gerry didn’t didn’t know what was.

He thinks they might be all marked, though some in ways that are clearer than others. Martin’s getting the first brushstrokes of a sad watercolor, but Melanie’s anger is already it’s own oil painting. And it’s not the kind of canvas you can clear easily. Even if you take a knife to scrape the paint off, reminders of what it was will always be there. Basira, though, is a work unfinished.

While the rest of them were stumbling through their paintings, she was reading on color theory, taking careful brushstrokes as she went along. If she becomes something, it won’t be an accident.

She had taken care of the officers who had come by, too. They had asked about what happened to the wax museum, and all Basira’d had to say to get them to leave had been, “It’s kind of a weird story,” with a certain emphasis on the words. They had nodded at that, thanked her for her time, and then left. He thinks she might've convinced the nurses to let her out early, too, but the fact that this was an Institute problem had just made them want to rush her exam. The doctor had definitely seemed more annoyed than worried, at least.

Still, Gerry isn’t sure he trusts anyone who commands that much power with a single sentence. The fact that there had been nothing supernatural behind it almost made it worse. Words of manipulation were just as familiar to him as actions twisted in spiderwebs. Neither were things to be trusted.

“So,” Martin says. “What now?”

Gerry blinks at him. They’ve left Tim and Jon’s rooms, but they’re still technically in the hospital, and it’s making his head feel murky. He doesn’t know why Martin expects him to have a plan, but he doesn’t, and he’s in no mood to tell anyone what to do with their life. 

“I mean, Elias is in prison,” Martin continues. “So we’re free of him, I guess, but we’ve still got to work in the Archives. And Jon said that _you_ said that there’s more than one ritual. So we’ll probably have to deal with those, won’t we?”

“Unless we quit,” Melanie says. She stares at Gerry. “Didn’t have the chance to ask before, but you know how to, don’t you? That’s why you took the tapes.”

Her tone is incredibly judgemental for someone trying to ask a question. Gerry wonders if the Slaughter had made her ruder or if that was just what attracted it to her.

“My dad quit,” Gerry says. “Before he died.”

“So you think he’s got a tape about it, then?”

“He might,” Gerry agrees. He sighs. “Not sure if I actually want to listen to it, though.”

Martin’s giving Gerry a look of pity. Gerry wonders if the emotion he’s feeling now is mundane enough that it could be understood.

“Do you know what it might say?” Martin asks gently.

“Mmm,” Gerry says. “Might’ve had to lose his eyes.”

“Give the tapes to me,” Melanie demands. “I’ll listen to them all. I’m going to quit, and I’m not letting whatever you’ve got going on stop me.”

 _“Melanie!”_ Martin gasps.

“You’re not going to quit,” Gerry tells her. “You know it won’t matter if you do.”

“What are you talking about?” Melanie laughs. “Of course I’m going to quit! What could possibly be more important than that?”

Gerry frowns.

“You don’t know?” he asks.

Melanie takes a step forward, but Basira pushes her back.

“And what about me?” Basira asks.

“I mean,” Gerry begins. Melanie’s distracting him. He thinks she might’ve lunged at him if Basira hadn’t spoken up. “Where else would you go?”

Basira looks at the ground.

“Could go visit my parents, I guess,” she says. “Bet they’re wondering why I quit the force.”

“Will you?” Gerry asks.

“No,” Basira admits. “I don’t think I can leave this place until I know what’s happened to Daisy.”

Gerry could understand that. He hadn’t really spoken to Daisy—and that had been intentional on his part—but it’s clear from the way Basira describes her that they cared about each other. Maybe even loved each other. 

“She’s probably not dead,” Gerry tells her. “We would have seen her body if that’s all that had happened. But they could have led her somewhere. She might be fine. Well—she might be _alive._ Just… lost.”

“Then I have to find her,” Basira says. “We’re partners. She’s my responsibility.”

This, Gerry thinks, does not sound like love. It sounds like a burden. A weighted vest to swim in. But it doesn’t come as a surprise. Hunters were not known for their ability to keep friends, and he knew from experience how draining they could be. Every interaction he’d had with Julia and Trevor had been against his will, even if they hadn’t realized what they were holding against him. But it wasn’t Gerry’s responsibility to decide who should be saved.

“The Circus had a lot of artefacts,” Gerry tells Basira. “Including a coffin that leads straight into the Buried, if I remember right. If she’s trapped _there,_ you probably won’t get her back, but there’s still hope. I never met your friend, but she was marked, yeah?”

“By the Hunt,” Basira says, frowning. Gerry’s not sure what was making her so hesitant to admit that. If he had known what Daisy was despite never meeting her, it had to be common knowledge at the Archives.

“Then she should be strong enough to survive wherever they put her,” Gerry says. “Only thing left is to get her back.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Basira says firmly. “I’ll check the wax museum. See if anything’s in the ruins. And then I’ll get her back.”

Martin lets out a loud sigh.

“So… that’s it, then?” he asks. “We might have a way to escape, but we’re too _busy_ to use it?”

 _“You’d_ take it _,”_ Melanie says. “Just as long as _Jon_ went with you.”

“Yeah,” Martin says. He doesn’t take the bait. “But he’s not going to quit.”

“Tim will,” Gerry says. All eyes are immediately on him.

“What would you do, if he did?” Martin asks. “I mean… it’d be a little weird, looking for Leitners after that, wouldn’t it?”

Yeah, maybe. 

He knew Tim didn’t really feel like having a normal life, after everything, but if he did, what would Gerry do? He had other hobbies, of course, but he couldn’t imagine completely cutting himself off from everything. It’d be the safer option, especially with Tim blind. Not that Gerry didn’t think he could take care of himself, but there would be an adjustment period. And showing weakness of any kind had never really ended well for Gerry. He doubted the world would be much kinder to Tim.

Martin nods, taking Gerry’s silence as its own answer.

“Christ,” Melanie says. “We’re all such fucking messes.”

Well. He can’t argue with that.

They agree to meet up in the tunnels in a couple days to talk about the tapes. It’s not the easiest place to get to, especially with everyone’s injuries, but it is the safest place to meet, so it’s for the best. After all, Elias going to prison didn’t suddenly rob him of his abilities to watch them.

Jon’s apparently already living with Martin, and Gerry’s going to stay with Tim, naturally, so it’s not like they won’t have help getting into the tunnels. Basira’s not as lucky, but she assures them she’ll be fine on her own and refuses Gerry’s offer to swing by. Gerry doesn’t doubt that she’ll be fine on her own. He just doesn’t think it’ll be fun.

Melanie isn’t happy about the wait, but unless she’s feeling like rifling through Gerry’s pockets for the tapes—which she can’t, Basira's holding her back—there’s nothing she can do to stop them.

It’s Tim’s idea for them to listen to the tapes before meeting up with everyone else. Gerry's first instinct is to point out how out of it Tim's been since the explosion, but Tim waves him off, insisting he can manage his brain long enough to listen to at least one tape.

“Especially if it's about your dad,” he says. “Doesn't matter where we got it. You should be the one to decide who gets it.”

“If Gertrude left a tape, it’s probably something Jon should hear,” Gerry replies.

Tim’s response to that is to snort and say that there’s no reason to treat Jon like he’s so important.

“If there’s something you think he should hear, just tell him,” he adds. “No reason he has to hear it firsthand.”

So they take out the tapes, very carefully dumping them on the floor of Gerry’s flat. Gerry considers pulling Absynthe out of her cage to keep them company but decides against it.

It’s pretty obvious what some of the tapes are about. A few of them are very clearly labeled as statements, and they all seem to be more or less about different rituals—mostly just the Dark’s, which should have happened by now and therefore isn’t Gerry’s problem. The other tapes are numbered, too, but it looks like some have a different filing method, and one’s not labeled at all. Another, one Tim seems to recognize, is labeled “birthday surprise :).” He doesn’t look happy to see it.

There are a dozen or so tapes that Jon’s already listened to. Tim had texted Jon about it, and Jon had provided a list of the statements he had gone through and what they were about. Mainly the Unknowing, or some other ritual. No surprise there. He also had a statement from Gerry’s mum, which Gerry has no interest in listening to. He doubts it’d be anything he hadn’t heard a hundred times before. No matter how much she claimed to have no love for the Eye, Mum really did love stories. Especially when they involved her.

The first of the tapes they listen to is for the next Archivist. Gertrude’s under the impression it was supposed to be Tim’s friend Sasha, which is interesting, to say the least. Tim pulls the tape out before Gertrude can finish her thought.

“We can—we can deal with that later,” Tim says. He takes a marker and puts a star next to the label. “Not like it’s anything I don’t know.”

“Not yet,” Gerry agrees. He picks out a tape and puts it in their player. The Gertrude on this tape sounds—stressed maybe? It doesn’t sound like she’s reading a statement. It sounds like she’s—

Oh.

Tim squeezes Gerry’s hand.

 _“And so Eric Delano ended,”_ Gertrude’s voice says. On the tape, Gerry hears wind being pulled into a tempest. He tries not to be sick. This isn’t a manifestation that can hurt him. This isn’t someone that _wants_ to hurt him. 

The wind calms. Eric Delano takes a breath.

 _“Eric?”_ Gertrude asks.

 _“Gertrude?”_ His dad’s voice. For a second, Gerry considers turning off the tape. This is the voice of a stranger. If he stops now, he can keep it that way. _“I—what am I doing here?”_

_“Mary. She gave me your page.”_

Of course she had.

_“She—oh.”_

_“Yes. Well. I’m sorry.”_

_“Wasn’t even a bit hard for her, was it? Handing me over? No sign of regret.”_

_“No,”_ Gertrude says. She apologizes. Apparently, Gertrude hadn’t expected it would be so—so what? So cruel? 

She hadn’t known Mary, then. 

He wasn’t surprised. Mary had told him that she had gotten rid of Dad as soon as he stopped being useful.

Dad just laughs.

 _“You should have seen what she did to my body afterwards,”_ he says.

_“Did you?”_

Tim pauses the tape just as Dad confirms that yes, he had seen his body.

“Gerry?” Tim asks.

Gerry blinks.

“It’s just…” he pauses. He’s not sure if there are words to describe how he’s feeling right now. The voice on the tape doesn’t sound familiar, but it sounds like someone he wants to know. “I never expected to hear his voice. Especially not… not like this.”

Gerry had known his dad had been an assistant for a few years before he’d been born. He had hoped if he’d hear his dad, it’d be from that time. The best-case scenario in Gerry’s mind had been that if there was a tape of Dad, it’d be some kind of journal of him trying to find a way to quit. He should have expected that all that’d be left was the page. It was _always_ the _fucking page._

Gerry doesn’t want to hear that his dad saw his own body being thrown out. And he really doesn’t want to think about where _he_ was during that.

“Yeah,” Tim says. He puts a hand on Gerry’s shoulder. 

“You can—” Gerry says. He swallows. “You can keep playing.”

“You sure?” Tim asks. Gerry doesn’t look at him.

“I’m sure.”

Dad says Mum’s bad at dumping bodies. That makes him snort. He wonders how Dad would feel, knowing she hadn’t gotten any better. Probably not very good, actually. 

Huh. Well, now that he’s said that, it doesn’t sound quite so funny.

Dad says his legs went all over the shop. That explains it, because Gerry remembers—wait, what the hell is he _talking_ about? Gerry doesn’t remember anything.

Gertrude asks what it’s like being bound to a book.

Painful, Dad says. He doesn’t like it.

Yeah, Gerry had assumed as much.

He says Mary used him to bounce ideas off of, though she had never listened to his thoughts on the matter. Where had Gerry been for that? Had Mum tried to make sure they never met? _Why?_ It was cruel enough to be her plan, but why go through all that effort? Did she really think it would have changed that much? She couldn’t let him have a dad, because he was too _useless,_ and he couldn’t have an echo of a father because what? He would have learned what it was like to have someone who _cared?_

Maybe that was it. He couldn’t have someone who cared about him, because maybe then, he’d have learned to care about himself. Gerry would have been useless to her if he cared about such trivial matters as his own health.

 _“And Gerry?”_ Dad asks. Gerry lifts his head. _“Have you seen my son?”_

 _“No, I’ve never met him, I’m afraid,”_ Gertrude says. She doesn’t sound particularly sorry. _“Mary talks of him a lot. Well, she seems very proud.”_

“Gertrude _knew_ your mum?” Tim asks. He’s paused the tape again.

“Yeah?” Gerry says. “My parents met through the Institute.”

“And she didn’t…” Tim doesn’t finish that thought. Gerry doesn’t need him to. 

Tim shakes his head and turns the tape back on.

 _“That’s… not as reassuring as you think it is,”_ Dad says. He sounds worried. For him. Huh.

A bit more talk. Dad’s not sure why Mum left his page. Says she had one final mystery to explore, which means this must have been right before… Well. Only one thing they could be talking about, really. If he had just worked up the courage to look for Dad a bit sooner, he might have found him. 

_“Five years as her husband, g-d knows how many as her possession, and she couldn’t stand to be in the same book as me,”_ Dad says.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Gertrude tells him.

 _“Yeah, it doesn’t feel great,”_ Dad says. _“But being dead, I suppose you don’t feel things as strongly. Little bit… flat.”_

Gertrude offers to burn his page, which Dad seems to think is for the best. Dad asks if Gertrude’s got any unfinished business with him, and she starts talking about cases, and then—

 _“Gertrude, I left the Archives months before she killed me,”_ Dad says. Tim takes a sharp breath. Yeah. There it was.

Gertrude’s surprised. No one told her. Apparently, Mary thought it’d be funnier that way. But Dad _did_ quit. He doesn’t want to tell Gertrude how, though. No doubt payback for whatever hell he had to go through working with her.

 _“You know, you were never actually all that nice to me when I worked for you, Gertrude. Not like Michael, or Emma,”_ Dad says. Emma? _Who?_

 _“Eric,”_ Gertrude says.

 _“What, you gonna threaten me? Look at me. Best I can currently hope for is to be burnt to ash,”_ Dad says. He sighs. _“I’m going to tell you, just—maybe there’s a price?”_

The price is Gerry. Dad wants Gertrude to make sure he’s alright. Gerry’s not used to being someone’s first priority. It’s such a nice thought, it almost makes up for Gertrude saying she’s not promising anything if Gerry’s “gone rotten.”

 _“As sentimental as ever,”_ Dad says, voice dry. 

Dad wants to make a statement, too. Doesn’t want to disappear on Mary’s terms. Gerry can understand that.

According to Gertrude, it’s the 21st of July. 2008. Gerry tries not to think about where he was while they were recording this. Nowhere important, certainly. Nowhere more important than this.

Eric Delano says that he had never meant to stay at the Magnus Institute. Gerry doesn’t know why that hits him so hard. He had always been planning on quitting. Only came there in the first place because he was interested in ghosts. _Ghosts._

Then he starts talking about Mary. How he loved her. Loved the _danger_ she brought. Gerry can’t imagine that. Can’t imagine tasting blood and calling it love _._ Can’t imagine seeing Mary’s smile, as she lied right to his face, and thinking that it was fine. That he’d reschedule a date instead of calling the _fucking cops._

Then again, Gerry hadn’t called the police, and he’d known about plenty of her kills. So it’s not like he has room to judge.

Eric says she was better than Gertrude. More honest. That he couldn’t be part of something like the Archives when he knew what happened to everyone involved.

 _“I had to get out, to escape this place,”_ Dad says. He sounds frustrated. _“I had a son to look after; he needed me!”_

Gerry grabs the tape recorder. He can’t take this anymore. He could barely handle hearing Mary described as someone that could be _loved._ He doesn’t need to hear more. Doesn’t need to hear this story when he’s already lived through the results. Fast-forward.

 _“I chose the option I thought might keep Gerry safe,”_ Eric says. “ _At least if I was home with him, I could perhaps soften the edges of his mother.”_

Fast-fucking-forward.

 _“I left to avoid dragging my family, my son, into this life, to_ try _and look after him. But Mary decided that a newly blinded husband was simply too much of a burden.”_

“Blinded?” Tim says. “That's…”

 _“Did you need to do anything?”_ Gertrude asks. _“Any… ritual, or…?_

 _“Just as long as they’re useless,”_ Eric says. _“I went the extra mile, destroyed them completely, but… I’m sure you’ll find something… neater. A strong acid, precisely applied?”_

It’s as much an insult as it is a genuine suggestion. Fools like Eric might maim themselves in an attempt to leave, but not Gertrude, _oh no._ The great Gertrude Robinson would never act so rashly. Never let herself be hurt anymore than was absolutely necessary. Never even waver while meeting a dead colleague, never falter when she _lied_ and promised to look after the kid that he left behind. No, all she’d do was be the perfect little Archivist and keep this knowledge in the same place she kept all of the rest of her shit—far away from anyone who could actually _use_ them. 

Gertrude doesn’t sound like she wants to quit. He skips forward.

No need to hear any of her excuses. 

_“Was there anything else?”_ Eric asks.

 _“No. No, I don’t think so,”_ Gertrude says.

_“Then if you don’t mind, I’d like to go away now.”_

_“Yes. I think that’s probably for the best. You’re certain burning will work?”_

_“If it doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”_

_“Then let’s get this over with.”_

_“If you see Mary again, tell her—No. I guess there’s not really anything else to say.”_

The tape ends.

No, that couldn’t be right. He still had—he needed—

“Gerry,” Tim says. “Are you okay?”

Pause. Rewind.

_“And Gerry? Have you seen my son?”_

Pause.

_“Gerry?”_

Fast-forward.

_“I want you to find my son.”_

“Hey, Ger?”

Forward more.

 _“She did what Mary does.”_ A laugh.

“Gerry?”

 _“I’m sorry it wasn’t as cathartic as you were hoping.”_

Fuck off. Rewind.

_“I want you to find my son.”_

Rewind. Rewind. Re—

Tim has the tape.

“Gerry,” Tim says. “Don’t—don’t _do_ this to yourself.”

“I need to hear it,” he protests weakly. “We didn’t even hear how he—”

Tim wipes the tears away from Gerry’s face. 

Oh. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“We know he blinded himself,” Tim says. “That’s what we were looking for, right? You don’t need to listen anymore if you don’t want to.”

But he wants to listen. Doesn’t he? He has to. The tapes were made to be listened to. And they never finished the story. There were still words his father had spoken that he hadn’t heard. Shouldn’t he want to? Shouldn’t he be committing the whole thing to memory instead of having some stupid breakdown? 

“We didn’t hear her burn the page,” is all he can say. Tim’s face falls.

“Oh, babe,” Tim says.

He can fish the tape out of Tim’s hands. He doesn’t. Tim’s pulling him into a hug, but he moves slow, like he’s worried about him. As if Gerry’s made of glass. What a joke. Gerry’s not made of anything.

“He was just a guy,” he says. He’s not sure why this is a revelation. Eric Delano had always been nothing more than a normal man. A normal man, with a normal degree, who wanted out. He had blinded himself, and he did it for Gerry, and yet Gerry had grown up lacking for it. He had spent his childhood fatherless and unaware of the reason for the dried blood that his mum had never cared to scrub out of the floor. There had been enough bodies in Pinhole Books that he had never questioned who it belonged to.

Had it hurt? Had he cared? Maybe that was on the tape. The tape still in Tim’s hands.

“If you want, I can look around the Institute for him,” Tim says gently. “Don’t see why Gertrude would keep him around, but never hurts to check, yeah? And—and I’m sorry you never got to meet him.”

But that wasn’t true, was it? Eric had met Gerry. Gerry had been almost three when he died; he’s not sure how, but he _knows_ that, knows that that’s not too early for memory. It’d be unusual, maybe, for him to remember a man he’d never even seen a picture of, but not impossible. He could have remembered something, could have tried harder to recall the man whose life had ended wishing that Gerry would have a better one, but he—

Eric had met his child. That was something, at least. But he had not been remembered. Despite all his efforts, he was still doomed to be nothing more than a footnote in the history of the Institute. There was nothing left of Eric Delano but one living person who could try and carry his memory with them. And Gerry’s sorry. 

He’s sorry, but he just _can’t._

The next solid thing Gerry’s aware of is Tim running a hand through Gerry’s hair. His face feels clean, which is weird, because he knows he had been crying. Gerry touches his cheek. Someone had washed off his make-up. And the hair tie that had been on his right hand had moved to his left. Hm. Gerry slips it back to his right.

Tim’s hand stops when Gerry moves his head. Gerry frowns and twists closer to Tim, who takes the hint and continues petting Gerry.

There’s no sign of the tape. No sign of any tapes. Someone must have put them away. Probably Gerry. Tim had just gotten out of A&E, after all. He shouldn’t be moving around.

“Sorry,” Gerry says, once he remembers how to speak. Tim looks at him.

“For what?” Tim says. “Not keeping your cool while you hear your dad talk about how he was murdered? Because I think that’s a pretty reasonable thing to freak out about. G-d knows I would have.”

“I already knew she killed him, though,” Gerry says. “I just…”

Dad had left the Institute for him. Gerry had known that. He was an average guy. Gerry had known that, too. That was what made it easy for Gerry to make peace with his death. He could convince itself it was always going to happen, that it was better sooner than later, before he had the chance to get attached.

But Dad had figured it out, despite it all. Lived long enough to see Gertrude sacrifice some others, too, it sounds like. So he had avoided that fate, even if he hadn’t lived through everything.

“Didn’t expect him to sound so capable,” Gerry says. “Kind of makes me wonder how long he’d last, if Mum hadn’t… but I guess there’s no use wondering.”

Tim doesn't look like he knows what to say to that.

“A little surprised you haven’t blinded yourself yet, though,” Gerry jokes. “I’m sure I’ve got something sharp enough lying around.”

“And leave you to freak out again?” Tim asks. “Elias is in jail. I think I can wait a few extra seconds to make sure my partner’s alright.”

“Sorry,” Gerry says again.

“It’s not something to apologize for,” Tim tells him. “I knew whatever this tape was, it’d be rough. That’s why we listened together.”

Gerry moves closer. He’s practically in Tim’s lap at this point, but Tim doesn’t seem to mind. Still, Gerry’s trying very hard not to lean on Tim too hard. Tim might not care about his pain, but Gerry does.

“I should be the one taking care of you,” Gerry mumbles. “You’re the one who almost got _blown up_ in a _wax museum.”_

Tim laughs.

“Why don’t we agree we’re both not having the best day and leave it at that?” he asks.

“Fair enough,” Gerry agrees. He hesitates. “There’s probably more to what happened than what we heard. We might want to actually listen through the whole thing.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “But do you actually want to listen, or are you just saying that because you think I should know?”

“I don’t think I want to listen to anything else he’s said,” Gerry admits. “I don’t even want to keep the tape. You can give it to Jon if you want.”

“Really? You’re sure?

Gerry closes his eyes. He’s not sure how to make Tim understand that the tape isn’t anything new. Yes, it had his dad’s voice, but other than that, it was just another reminder of a sad inheritance.

“I don’t really want to carry around his ghost,” Gerry says finally.

“Okay,” Tim says. “Yeah, I get that.”

“You can listen, though,” Gerry says. 

“I don’t need to,” Tim tells him. He’s still petting Gerry’s hair.

“I’m not going to get mad if you know more about me,” Gerry replies.

“That’s not it,” Tim says, shaking his head. “I mean, working in the Archives, I’ve definitely found maybe a few things you’d rather forget, but—I just don’t know if learning more would help either of us.”

A funny thing for someone in the Archives to say, especially considered what had probably saved him.

Gerry sighs.

“It’s probably not a good idea for me to hear more,” he admits. He couldn’t even remember what his dad had said that had made him so upset. Something about his mum, maybe. He’s sure he could find it, if he tried, but why would he want to? Picking at wounds had always been a bad habit of Gerry’s, but even he has to admit there’s things better left unknown.

He remembers most of the tape, anyways. Should probably consider that a win. 

“I think we should just leave the tape where it is,” Tim says. “Just for now. There’s a lot of other tapes to listen to, but there’s no reason we can’t come back to it.”

Gerry considers this, then frowns.

“I don’t want my dad’s statement to be with my mum’s,” he says. It feels like such a childish thing to worry about, but Tim doesn’t bat an eye.

“I think they’re in different cases,” he says. “You put them all on the bookshelf if you want to check.”

Gerry stands up. Yeah, he can see them now. Hard to miss three cases of tape recorders.

“Think we should listen to some of the other tapes?” Tim asks. “Just in case?”

Gerry laughs.

“I’m not lucky enough for _that_ to be all there is Gertrude took from me,” he says. He knows there’s another tape somewhere. One with him on it. Probably one of the unmarked ones. Gertrude might not’ve kept it, but Gerry doesn’t really want to check to make sure. He doesn’t want to hear himself get scolded again. 

Maybe it’s another childish wish, but at least it’s an easily granted one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic Attacks, Implied Eye Trauma
> 
> *runs in with another gerrytim fic after like 2 months of dealing with carpal tunnel* AND ANOTHER THING--
> 
> Next up: a warning from the Archivist


	2. Unburnt Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new tape is listened to and something important is learned. Gerry feels vindicated for punching an old man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 161

The next morning, Gerry goes for a walk. He finds Helen soon after he leaves his flat, sitting on a bench that definitely hadn’t been there the last time he had passed by. One of the eyes dangling off her earrings wink at him.

Gerry’s not sure he trusts her. She’s been pretty clear that there’s not much of Michael left in her, and that he won’t find it, if he tries to look. Micheal is just an infection Helen was tasked with removing. And if Gerry hadn't been there to stop Micheal from killing an Archivist, Helen would have been given that task much sooner. In a way, that means Gerry had saved Michael's life. So that’s something, at least.

Still, if Helen was here, that meant she had some information to share. Maybe it’d even be the truth.

Gerry sits down next to her.

“I think you should pass on a warning to the new Archivist,” Helen says.

“That so?” Gerry says.

“He was not expected to survive,” Helen explains. “He seemed too human. But if he could take down one ritual, then, surely, he could stop another.”

“So they’re scared of him now?” Gerry asks. It was unexpected, but unsurprising. Good deeds never went unpunished.

“We all remember Gertrude,” Helen says. “No one wants a repeat of that in her replacement.”

Gerry can’t help but laugh at that. Yeah, he didn’t either.

“Well, thanks for the tip,” Gerry says. “Now, how much of that is the truth?”

Helen just smiles at him.

“I am capable of being helpful,” she says. “For the right person.”

Gerry snorts. A non-answer.

“You’re really enjoying feeding your patron, huh?” he says.

“Does it seem that way?” Helen asks. She seems pleased. It’s a bit hard to tell for sure, though, considering how much of a kaleidoscope her face is at the moment.

“You strike me as someone who’s always been good with words,” Gerry tells her. “Now you’re just using that to confuse the hell out of everyone else.”

“Oh, Helen Richardson was _very_ confusing,” Helen laughs. It echoes like a flashlight falling down a cave. “Helen sold the lie that an expensive house would change your life for the better. She would let families into her home and promise it was oh-so-special and impossibly original, as if it wasn’t identical to every other building on the block. What people wanted was the promise their money was worth something. But if they wanted meaning, they would not find it with her.”

Helen looks at Gerry expectantly. The bench beneath him turns from wood to metal.

“I’ll warn Jon for you,” Gerry tells her, instead of getting into whatever that was. “Where’d you hear this, anyhow?”

“I keep my doors open,” Helen says. “And I have made a few new friends.”

“Going to tell me who they are?”

“If I told you anything, it would be a lie.” 

“Figures.”

Helen taps her long fingernails on her leg. It sparks like flint being used for a fire. She’s starting to look a bit more anxious. Gerry hadn’t realized she was human enough for nerves.

“Would you like to see _your_ friends?” Helen asks. “I know you’ve traveled through Michael’s doors quite a bit, and I’m sure your old roommates miss you.”

“Oh,” Gerry says.

He had promised Kira he’d come back to see them using Michael’s doors, but had never gotten around to it. He hadn’t realized Helen knew (remembered?) about that. In his defense, he’d had a busy year. Gerry hadn’t settled in London as soon as he’d left them. He’d been looking for something. He had stayed at an AirBnB in Wales for a few months looking for an old pot that would apparently suffocate anyone who tried to use it by filling the room with a heart’s desire or some shit. That had been fun. He’d given Basil and Kira a virtual tour of the place, and the two gleefully made fun of every single design choice the owner had made. But, unfortunately, Gerry’s life was more monsters than weird BnBs and the longer they were apart, the less Gerry found he could say.

Honestly, he had expected them to have gotten tired of him by now. He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to keep in touch with, and he wouldn’t have blamed them for giving up on him. But they didn’t. When he left, Kira had looked at him straight on and said they already knew he wasn’t the best at texting, but they’d forgive him just as long as he’d send something, or _at least_ a picture of Absynthe—who he’d been considering buying for a while at that point—at least once a week or so. That, Gerry could do.

And they were talking more now, too. Just the other day, Kira had texted him to make him rate different fictional vampires. One of those vampires was the dad in some movie called _Hotel Transylvania,_ which he had to look up the plot synopsis for before giving an actual review (Final rating was 2/10. He sounded fun, but controlling parents don’t have rights.) Kira hadn’t forgotten about him. Gerry could be sure of that.

“Not today,” Gerry says finally. Helen looks disappointed, but Gerry finds that he feels more suspicious than guilty. He’s never had Helen open a door for him that led somewhere so far away and he’s not sure he wants to risk it. “But it’s good to know the offer still stands. Thank you.”

“If you would like to visit someone… closer, we can do that as well,” Helen says. Her smile leads off her face. “After all, my doors are always open.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gerry says. “The trick is finding it again.”

“I would never lead you astray,” Helen insists. “I would miss your sense of humor.”

Gerry snorts. Nice to know that’s why she kept him around.

“Helen,” Gerry says hesitantly. “My dad, he—I mean, do you know if—”

Helen saves him from the pain of asking.

“Gertrude burned his page,” she says. “It hurt her, which she hadn’t been expecting. Michael heard her shout and ran towards her office, but all he could tell was that something smelt like burning flesh. We put the pieces together later on.”

“Oh.” Gerry’s not sure if he’s more relieved, or disappointed. No—that’s selfish. He’s definitely relieved. His dad deserved a chance to rest. “Thanks. Does that mean you have all of Michael's memory or something?"

“I do not,” Helen says. “But I know everything he knew.”

“Is there really that much of a distinction?” Gerry asks.

“Not really,” Helen tells him. “It’s mostly just a matter of perspective.”

Of course it was. Gerry leans back on the bench. It’s softer than it should be. Gerry takes a moment to appreciate that.

“I should go back,” he says.

Helen nods. Gerry stands up.

“You’ll see me again soon enough,” Helen promises, and watches him walk away.

It’s actually pretty easy for them to get into the tunnels. Tim’s traveled through so many times, he’s practically got a map of the entire place in his mind. He knows which paths to go down to avoid stairs. They’re the first ones to get there, so while they’re waiting, Gerry goes through the trapdoor and takes some chairs from the Archives. Sure, they _could_ sit on the ground, but Gerry didn’t really want to, and he doubted the three injured people in their party would either.

Martin and Jon arrive in time for Martin to offer some assistance. Melanie arrives last.

“So,” Martin says, once they’re all comfortable. “Elias is gone. That’s great. Go team! But he’s being replaced with Peter Lukas.”

“Not our problem,” Melanie says. She turns to Gerry. “You still have the tapes, right? Give them here.”

“No need,” Tim says. “Gerry and I already found what we needed. As long as you can’t see, you can quit.”

“Is Peter even with the Eye?” Basira says. “Would that still work?”

“You’re quitting an institution,” Gerry says. “Not a person. But no, he’s not with the Eye.”

“But he’s still dangerous, isn’t he?” Martin asks. “Should we do something about him?”

“Not if you want to quit,” Gerry says. “You dealt with Elias. My advice would be to just take the victory and get out of here.”

“But surely, he’s planning something,” Jon insists.

“Everyone’s planning something,” Gerry scoffs. “Only way out is to leave before that plan involves you.”

Jon frowns.

“If you want an excuse to stay, I’m not going to give you one,” Gerry adds. “There’s always going to be something to fight. If you want to spend the rest of your life shutting down rituals and being hunted, then the Archives are the perfect place to be. But you proved yourself capable enough to shut down one ritual. Whatever comes after you next will remember that. If you actually want to live longer than five years, I’d recommend looking for another job.”

“It’s not that simple,” Jon protests. “If I quit now, without doing _anything,_ what’s to stop Peter from appointing another Archivist? Don’t I have some responsibility to them? I doubt whoever replaces me will know anything about _any_ of this! I don’t want—I don’t want someone to suffer because of me.”

“No reason we can’t quit, then,” Melanie mutters. “That’s not _my_ problem.”

She’s squirming in her seat. Basira’s got a hand on her shoulder. Gerry doubts it’ll stop her for long, but he also doesn’t think even someone as slaughter-scarred as Melanie would be so desperate to blind herself that she’ll make a break for the Archives and use the first sharp object she can find. Still, she’s definitely thinking about it.

“What about the other tapes?” Basira asks, raising her voice to quiet Melanie's grumbling.

“There were a lot of statements,” Tim says. “Mostly just about the rituals. And there was a message for the next Archivist. She… she thought it’d be Sasha.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that makes Gerry uncomfortable.

“Figures,” Melanie snorts. “Can’t imagine _you_ were anyone's first choice.”

 _“Hey!”_ Martin protests. “That’s not Jon’s fault.”

“I haven’t listened,” Tim says, before Melanie can turn anything into a fight. “Not to all of it, at least. I thought we should hear it together. If you even want to hear it.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Jon asks.

“Because this doesn’t have to be our problem,” Tim says. “We can just quit.”

Jon looks down at the ground.

“Really?” Tim asks. “After everything that’s happened here, you still want to stay?”

“It's not that simple,” Jon says again.

“No,” Tim insists. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for some future fictional archivist. You’re doing this because you don’t want to leave. Elias sent us to our deaths! And you still want to work for him. In his archives.”

“I’m not staying for Elias,” Jon says. “He's not—the only reason I’m considering this is because he’s in jail! We can finally use the Archives for ourselves!”

“Sure that’s not just what he wants you to think?” Tim asks. Gerry puts his hand on his shoulder. Then he remembers how badly bruised Tim’s back is, and takes Tim’s hand instead.

“Let just listen to the tape,” Gerry says. Tim sighs.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s hear it.”

Gerry starts the tape.

 _“Right,”_ Gertrude says. _“If you’re listening to this, then it is likely that—no. Let’s not beat around the bush. If you’re listening to this, it means I’m dead. And you have been chosen to be my replacement as Head Archivist.”_

There’s a weight to her words. She sounds tired. She’s not expecting to live through the night. Why prepare all this, if she thought she could?

Her next words are directed at Sasha. Gertrude’s under the impression that she’s the obvious choice for next Archivist. Even says she hopes her background in artefact storage will help her. 

Gertrude explains a bit about the fears. Nothing Gerry doesn’t know. Nothing Tim didn’t know either. She talks about the rituals, too. Gerry’s about to zone out when she mentions the Archives again. Calls it a part of a ritual. Calls the _Archivist_ part of that ritual. Suddenly, all eyes are on Jon.

 _“Oh, yes,”_ Gertrude adds. _“On the subject of Elias: Trust nothing he says. He was originally known as Jonah Magnus, the founder of this Institute, and I have known him also as James Wright, the previous head of this Institute.”_

Gerry pauses the tape as the room erupts into chaos.

“Did you know?” Melanie asks, glaring at Gerry as if this is all somehow his fault.

“Of course not,” Gerry insists, but unfortunately, he couldn’t deny that it made sense. Elias had a lot of power over the Institute. You couldn’t get that strong in just one lifetime. Not without attracting a lot of attention. And if Wright had the same abilities, he wouldn’t have died such a boring death, though admittedly Gerry hadn’t known much about Wright either. “I only met him once.”

Melanie seems almost satisfied with that answer.

“How the hell did Jonah Magnus run a business for so long as one person?” she asks. “Even if he just changed his name, someone should have noticed something, right?”

“I don’t think he only changed his name,” Jon says hesitantly. “I… looked into Elias some time ago. While I didn’t find much, he seemed like… a very different person.”

There’s a pause.

“Well, shit,” Tim says.

“You think it was identity theft?” Basira asks. “Did he _look_ different, too?”

“He looked the same, but I doubt a man as old as Jonah would feel the need to spend his time at _uni parties.”_

“You never know,” Gerry says. “Maybe he feels like he missed out.”

“So, what?” Melanie demands. “I mean, what else could it be? You think Jonah’s possessing the real Elias or something?”

“Is that possible?” Jon asks Gerry.

“Dunno about possible, but it’s definitely not _likely,”_ Gerry replies. “Most avatars come back from the dead in one way or another, but controlling bodies is more of a Web thing. Might be another contract, I guess. Just like how working at the Archives traps you, getting promoted might automatically make you some kind of vessel.”

“The People’s Church had someone like that, though,” Basira reminds them. “So it’s not _just_ the Web.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really think Elias’ is secretly some dark blob you can shove down someone’s throat,” Gerry says. “Guess it could have something to do with eyes, I guess.”

“Would we be able to save him, then?” Martin asks hesitantly. “Not that I really _want_ to, but—” 

“We’re not going to,” Melanie says flatly. “Whatever he is, he deserves to suffer.”

“He probably is,” Gerry says. “Uh. The real Elias, I mean. If it’s possession, there’s no reason to keep him alive unless Jonah’s feeding off his fear. So he’s probably suffering. Or he’s dead.”

“But what if—,” Martin begins, then sighs. “Yeah. No, you’re probably right.”

“We’ll just kill him,” Melanie says. “Put them both out of their misery.”

Gerry takes this as his cue to start the tape again.

 _“He has certain.. abilities of clairvoyance, which allow him to perceive out of any eye, real or symbolic, so be wary,”_ Gertrude says. 

Gerry pauses the tape. Everyone’s staring at him. Or more specifically, they’re staring eye tattoos on his jaw.

“Can he see us now, do you think?” Basira asks after a short pause. “Will he know that _we_ know?”

“Well, he shouldn’t be able to see us inside the tunnels…,” Jon says hesitantly.

“I think we should stick something over your tattoos,” Melanie says, still staring at Gerry. “Or maybe just cut them off.”

Woah there.

“If you’re really worried, I have plasters,” Martin offers. “But I’m not sure the tattoos really make that much of a difference? Elias might not even know Gerard’s alive.”

“Really?” Gerry says.

“Well, I might’ve said something about Melanie having some help getting him arrested, and he just seemed kind of confused?” Martin says. “Maybe he was so focused on keeping track of us, he didn’t bother looking into you?”

“Makes sense to me,” Gerry says. “Doubt he expected I’d actually be of any help.”

Even if Elias had known Gerry was alive, he probably had assumed Gerry had too much self-preservation instincts to journey back into the Archives. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Gerry doubts he’d be sitting here if it wasn’t for Tim. Working with Gertrude had almost killed him, and Gerry wasn’t keen on a repeat of that experience. Either way, it was somewhat of a relief to know Elias probably hadn’t been watching over Tim like some cursed chaperone while the two of them had been meeting up for lunch. Even if it did mean that Elias probably knew where that eye pendant Gerry had left at Molina’s house had ended up. 

Had he been using that to spy on the Cult, somehow? Gerry didn’t like the thought of helping Elias, no matter how unintentional it had been. He’s also getting weirdly angry at the thought that Elias could have just _told him_ where it was, and Gerry’d have probably been able to find it in, like, five seconds, instead of having to accept was lost forever.

“Sorry,” Basira interrupts. “How is your name pronounced? I think I’ve heard at least three different versions of it since I’ve started working here.”

“You can just call me Gerry,” Gerry says. Basira’s lips press together.

“Cool,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Can we go back to the tape?” Melanie asks. Gerry shrugs and turns the tape recorder back on.

 _“Play ignorant as long as you can while you expand your own research,”_ Gertrude says. _“I’ve managed to keep the Archives in a state of chaos for decades, as I believe his plan would benefit from their organization. But I leave that to your judgment. Certainly, the longer he is ignorant of how much you know, the better.”_

“Well, that explains some things,” Jon mutters. Ah. That’s right. He had tried organizing Gertrude’s mess. His mistake, really.

Gertrude warns them about the danger of the job. She warns them about the price of success. She tells them to pay it without hesitation, because the fate of the world’s at stake. There’s a flicker of emotion in her voice as she says this. Did she regret how she had lived? A small part of him can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about him. He’s not sure what he’d do if she is. 

_“I wish I had more time to explain it to you. But time is short, and hopefully my actions tonight will ensure that this tape never needs to see the light of day,”_ Gertrude says. _“If you are hearing this, good luck. Do what you have to do.”_

Well, that was… 

It was a lot. Gerry barely has time to let out a breath before he hears a door open, and another voice appears.

 _“Are you finished?”_ a man asks.

 _“Jurg! I told you to wait in the tunnels,”_ Gertrude says, annoyed. Wait, _Jurg?_ Did that mean this was _Jurgen Leitner?_ That couldn’t be right. He sounded like that old man Gerry had met when he was— _ohhh._

 _“Jurgen Leitner?”_ Tim whispers, a bit too loudly. He nudges Gerry slightly.

“Jurgen fucking Leitner,” Gerry agrees. He knows Tim’s expecting him to have some clue as to why the two would be working together, but Gertrude had known better than to mention a fact like that to him.

Then again, she had told him that Leitner had come to London. Why tell him that, when they clearly knew each other? And why was he in the tunnels? The tunnels that Gertrude had specifically told Gerry didn’t exist? Had he been down there the entire time?

Wait. Tim had mentioned that they found a man’s body in the tunnels.

Had Gerry scared Leitner so badly that the man had decided never to leave? Had Gertrude _planned_ that? That was—actually, no, Gerry could live with that. Leitner may have seemed pathetic, but after everything his books had done, he deserved to feel some fear.

 _“Your message also told me it was urgent,”_ Leitner says.

 _“If Elias is watching right now…”_ Gertrude warns.

_“Then your recording all that was meaningless anyway. Besides, I’m not afraid of him.”_

Gertrude seems to highly doubt that. She calls it bravado, which Leitner insists it’s not.

Gertrude asks him if he has “the Ruskin book.” Gerry’s not sure if he knows that one. Still, even if Leitner’s _right there,_ he’s a bit surprised to hear that Gertrude’s been using one of his books. Gerry knows how she used to get when he brought one just a bit too close to her Archives.

 _“I don’t relish the thought of using it,”_ Leitner complains. _“Makes it rather hard to breathe, like your chest is being—”_

Gertrude interrupts him.

_“Do you know the gas main, a little way out in the tunnel?”_

He does. Gertrude wants him to move it. He doesn’t seem too happy about that, but she convinces him.

 _“Mmm. I’ll do what I can,”_ Leitner says. He sighs. _“When do you need it?”_

_“If my guess is right, the Church’s ritual should be collapsing any time now, so—immediately.”_

_“And if you’re wrong?”_

_“Then a bit of gas will be the least of our worries.”_

_“What are you going to do?”_

_“Paper burns well,”_ Gertrude says. Gerry can hear the sound of something sloshing around in the background. _“Petrol burns better.”_

Leitner calls her a pyromaniac and asks if she left the tape running. Gertrude groans and scolds herself for being so forgetful.

Then the tape clicks off.

“So,” Tim says.

“Sounds like Gertrude was planning on burning down the Institute,” Melanie says. “Probably means we should, too. Last wishes and all that.”

“It’d definitely be easier with Elias gone,” Martin agrees. “But we still have to worry about Peter.”

“What's he going to do about it?” Melanie snorts.

“He can trap you in a world completely devoid of any human interactions or comfort, leaving you with nothing to hope for but the comfort of death,” Gerry says. 

“You’re kind of a bummer,” Melanie informs him.

“Well, you did ask,” Tim says. Melanie kicks him. “Don’t know if we want to do anything Gertrude wants if she was working with Jurgen Leitner, though. I mean, are we really trusting that guy?”

“Leitner wasn’t as impressive or nefarious as you might think,” Jon says. “I’m, ah, now realizing that in all of the… _excitement_ we’ve had recently I forgot to mention my conversation with him. Before Elias killed him, Leitner was very willing to explain everything, though looking back, I’m not sure how much he actually knew.”

Gerry snorts.

“He, uh, did mention you,” Jon adds. “Or rather, he mentioned that the last time he went out, he was attacked by an ‘angry goth.’”

Tim holds up a hand. Gerry hi-fives it.

“Can’t believe the great Jurgen Leitner was a hack this whole time,” Tim says. “Glad he got what was coming to him. What was his deal, anyways?”

“Well,” Jon says. “He knew the books were out in the world. So he found them. And put his name on them. And then he was attacked.”

Well, when you said it like that, it did sound kind of sad.

Mum had mentioned meeting Leitner once or twice, but Gerry hadn’t believed her when she called him underwhelming. Now that he knew Leitner really was that old man he had met, he had to agree.

“So he’s no one, then,” Melanie says. “Just an idiot with a lot of books.”

“I think that might be putting it a bit too kindly,” Jon says. “He had plenty of his own assistants working for him to find those books, all of whom died rather terrible because of his own lack of knowledge.”

“He told you all that?” Melanie asks. Jon shrugs.

“He gave me a statement,” he says.

“Still sounds like maybe we should burn the Institute down,” Basira says. “I mean, if it’s what Gertrude would have wanted…”

“It’s probably the only way for us to really get out,” Martin says softly. He’s speaking more to Jon than her. “I mean, if we just quit, then we’ll get replaced. But if we burn this place down, well, no one can get hired to work in an empty lot.”

“That is true,” Jon says. He doesn’t seem happy to admit it. “I don’t like the thought of us destroying the place without getting any answers, but staying hardly seems worth it.”

“So we’re doing this?” Melanie asks, clearly excited. “We’re going to burn it all down?”

“Well, we’re not going to do it _today,”_ Martin says. “There’s—we need a plan, you know? Make sure everyone’s out of the building. And Elias—or, Jonah, I guess—he probably got rid of whatever explosives Gertrude had planted. We need to make sure we do this _right._ We can’t just light a match and hope for the best.”

“There’s something I don’t get, though,” Tim says. He doesn't even wait for Martin to finish his sentence before speaking. “Gertrude mentioned the Dark’s ritual. How the hell was she going to find a way to blow _them_ up when she was in the middle of setting the Institute on fire?”

“Adelard Dekker?” Jon offers hesitantly. Gerry shakes his head.

“Pretty sure he died after I started hanging with Gertrude,” he says. “She definitely wasn’t talking to him, at least.”

There’s a pause.

“That’s kind of it, isn’t it?” Melanie asks. “I mean, she doesn’t sound like a woman with a lot of friends.”

“Might’ve found a way to get another entity to shut it down,” Gerry says. “They don’t have to like Gertrude to not want the world to be total darkness.”

“Doubt the Lightless Flame would like that,” Basira agrees.

“Oh, no, the Lightless Flame _hates_ Gertrude,” Gerry snorts. “If she had to work with them, I’d of heard something by now. Gertrude’s not one to brag, but there’s no way she’d be able to resist mentioning _that.”_

“But the ritual had to have been stopped,” Jon insists. “Otherwise, what was the point? Not just of stopping the Unknowing, but—it was her life’s work! She wouldn’t have devoted so much time to something useless, would she?”

“Gertrude wouldn’t have risked it unless she knew their ritual would fail,” Gerry says. “So what makes Elias’s ritual so different?”

“Maybe she’s just got a real low opinion of the People’s Church,” Tim says. Gerry snorts.

“It’s definitely not in her top five cults, I’ll tell you that,” he agrees. “Honestly, I don’t think I heard her say anything about them. I know she had a plan for the Watcher’s Crown, but she never mentioned any other rituals. Not any new ones, anyways.”

“Do you think she just thought she could fix it?” Martin asks. “I mean, if the ritual went off without a hitch, could she have put the world back after?”

“Well, she told me she didn’t think something like that was possible,” Gerry says. “But she also told me that there weren’t any tunnels under the Institute, so…”

“She’d certainly need an impressive plan to manage something like that,” Jon says. “I’d imagine she’d detail at least some of that on tape.”

“I think we only saw one or two statements about the Dark when we looked through Gertrude’s stuff,” Tim says. “But she had _way_ more about the Unknowing.”

“Maybe it really _wasn’t_ a respected cult,” Martin mutters. Tim doesn't acknowledge his joke.

“There’d be no reason to play favorites with rituals,” Jon says. Gerry can hear him tapping his fingers. Tim leans his body toward Jon. “Elias—the Watcher’s Crown couldn’t have been happening at the same time, could it? There’d be too much risk of canceling the other out. He’d want to give himself enough time so that wouldn’t be an issue. There’d be no reason for Gertrude to act, unless…”

“Unless Elias can do something the Church can’t,” Tim finishes.

“If the Watcher’s Crown is so dangerous, Gertrude was willing to risk plunging the whole world into darkness, maybe that’s a sign we should just forget all this and just burn the whole place down,” Melanie says. “Let’s just quit, you know? Move on with our lives.”

“Believe me, I’d love to,” Tim tells her. “But… isn’t there something we’re forgetting?”

“Is there?” Jon asks.

“Jon,” Tim says. “Your lighter. The one with the webs?”

“Yes?” Jon asks.

“Those delivery guys gave it to you, didn’t they?” Tim says. “The ones with the table.”

“You think it’s a sign?” Gerry asks. “The Web wants this place gone, or something?”

“Okay, but even if it does,” Melanie says. “Is it wrong?”

“Gertrude mentioned Agnes in the tape,” Jon says. “The Lightless Flame intended to use her to bring about the end of the world. If they were close, I’m not surprised Gertrude’s first reaction was to start a fire.”

“Still doesn’t mean she’s wrong, though,” Martin says. 

“But it does mean we should look into the consequences a bit more closely,” Jon says.

“Right,” Basira says. “So what’s the plan? We try to find as much out about the Web as we can, and at the end of three months or so, we burn it down anyways?”

“Why three months?” Melanie asks.

“You wouldn’t be able to wait any longer,” Basira tells her. Melanie snarls in response.

“Don’t act like you know me so well,” she says. “You’ll be lucky if I wait _one month._ I’m not about to sit around while you all _nothing.”_

“I’m not planning on doing nothing,” Basira says. Her voice has the same casual air of indifference it always does, though slightly louder than usual, but her steady tone does nothing but aggravates Melanie further. The only light they have is a few torches, but even in the dim light, Gerry can tell there’s about to be a stand-off.

“I can wait a month,” Tim says. Melanie turns away from Basira in surprise.

“I—really?” Jon says.

“You want to _stay?”_ Melanie asks.

“It’s not too long,” Tim says. “Might as well stay. I can try and look into the building. See if it really is ready to blow. You guys can look into the supernatural stuff. Maybe see what happened with the last Watcher’s Crown or something.”

“Right,” Jon says. “Er—thank you. For staying.”

“I’ll wait three months,” Tim says. “If it takes any longer than that, I _will_ gouge my eyes out. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I believe you,” Jon says. He’s smiling.

“What about the other tapes?” Martin asks.

“We didn’t actually have a chance to go through them all,” Tim says. What he means is that they hadn’t wanted to. “We did bring one, though. It’s blank, which is weird—all the rest are labeled as statements.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” Basira says.

Gerry takes the tape out of his jacket pocket and puts it in the recorder. They’re greeted by a woman’s voice.

 _“This it?”_ she asks.

 _“Oh, thank—,”_ the Tim on the tape never finishes his sentence, because the Tim next to Gerry is shutting the tape off.

“Why the _hell_ does Elias have this?” he demands.

“What?” Martin asks. “What is it?”

“A stupid conversation,” Tim replies, still clearly seething with anger. “A stupid, normal conversation between me and Sasha.”

“Oh,” Martin says.

“What was he saving this for?” Tim demands. “To—to gloat? To make sure he’d always have another way to get under our skin?”

“Sasha’s the one who disappeared, right?” Basira asks.

“Sasha’s the one who _got replaced,”_ Tim hisses. 

Gerry squeezes Tim’s hand. Tim sighs.

“Where did you even find this tape?” he asks.

“Most of them were just in a desk,” Gerry replies. He frowns. “Not all, though. Wouldn’t have even noticed it if Melanie wasn’t moving things around.”

“I wanted to see if he kept anything in that fucking skull,” Melanie says. “I mean, why bother to have all those _bones_ lying around if you weren’t hiding blackmail in it?”

“But he wasn’t,” Gerry adds. “Made me realize that there was something behind the bookshelf, though. Something I probably wouldn’t have seen otherwise, with how we were rushing around.”

“Elias really didn’t want us to find those tapes, I guess,” Melanie agrees. “Can’t say I blame him. If I listened to that while we were going through his shit, I definitely wouldn’t have bothered looking into all the embezzlement he was doing. Would have just burnt the place to the ground right there.”

 _“Embezzlement?”_ Martin repeats.

“Elias was committing literally every white-collar crime you could think of,” Melanie says. “But that’s not important. It’s fucked up that he kept that. I’m… I’m sorry you guys had to deal with that.”

Gerry knows he’s not the only one surprised at the sudden show of genuine emotion.

“Right,” Tim says. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Jokes on him, though, because Gertrude left a _lot_ of tapes,” Melanie adds. “There was no chance of us getting them all, so we just looked for whatever was important. Guess we found it.”

“Should we… listen to it?” Martin asks. “Sasha’s tape, I mean.”

“It’s not important,” Tim says, raising his voice. “It doesn’t—nothing on it _meant_ anything. Just made some jokes about the Archives. How much of a jerk Jon was at the time, how I thought she deserved the job instead… I never thought I’d hear her voice again. Especially not about something so _stupid.”_

No one speaks. Tim clears his throat.

“Anyways, that’s all we’ve got,” he says. “Think we’ve already covered everything important. Oh, except for the fact that Elias had apparently taken that _stupid_ birthday tape we recorded.”

“Wait, there’s more?” Martin asks. “So does that mean…”

“Two tapes,” Tim snarls. “Two more chances we could have had to hear her voice. And he just. Had them. Lying around in his office. For _no reason!_ Guess he didn’t think it was relevant.”

“I’m sure one of us would have heard it sooner or later,” Jon says bitterly. “Though I hate to think of the circumstances that would warrant Elias to torment us so thoroughly.”

Tim snorts.

“Yeah,” he says. “Guess we should just be glad we found out this way instead of whatever he had planned.”

“I suppose so,” Jon agrees. He hesitates. “Should we… listen to _that_ tape?”

Tim snorts.

“Think we’ve had enough for one day,” he says. Melanie sighs. She’s too far away from the light for Gerry to really see her face, but he knows she’s rolling her eyes.

“If you’re not doing anything, I’m leaving,” she announces, standing up.

Gerry opens his mouth to speak, but Basira beats him to it.

“Not going to do anything stupid, are you?” she asks.

“No,” Melanie snarls. “I want this place burned down just as much as you. I won’t quit if you can promise me revenge.”

“One way or another, we _will_ stop Elias,” Jon vows. 

“Good,” Melanie says. She makes her way out of the tunnels before Gerry gets a chance to ask if that’s really what she needs right now.

“You’re going to have to do something about her,” Gerry says. “Even if she’s freed from the Archives, all it’ll do is make her other mark worse.”

“Other mark?” Basira repeats slowly. She rubs her temples. “Okay. And how would we fix that?”

“Remove the infection,” Gerry tells her. “Anything attack her recently? Some wounds are deeper than they seem.”

Jon swears.

“She got shot by a ghost in India,” he says. “She refused to give a statement on it, but she’s certainly been more volatile since then.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Gerry agrees. Ugh. A ghost bullet. They’d probably want his help to get it out, then. Now that’s not something he’s looking forward to.

“I’ll deal with it,” Basira says. “Just—ugh, not today.”

“I doubt she’ll make it easy for you,” Jon says. He turns to Gerry. “Should we… tell her?”

“Of course you should tell her,” Gerry says. “She deserves to know what’s going on in her own body. Doubt she’ll be happy to hear it, though.”

“We’ll figure it out later,” Basira says. “I’m going home.”

Gerry gives her a short nod, and then Basira heads out.

“Ah,” Jon says. “Er—Tim? Could you perhaps… stay a bit longer?”

“Got something to say, boss?” Tim asks.

“I want to apologize,” Jon says. “Again. For everything. You—I was _awful_ to you, and you saved me.”

“I didn’t do anything but save myself,” Tim says, but that’s not the truth. After the Unknowing, Tim and Jon had been found underneath rubble. Because of the way everything had piled on, they had been mostly fine. But their survival had been Tim’s doing. 

Gerry could see it in his injuries; Not just Tim’s broken arm, but the bruises on the other, from breaking Jon’s fall, the canvas of black and blue on his shoulder and up his back from acting as a shield. And it had _hurt._ Gerry had seen how hard it was for Tim to even just sit down—walking through the tunnels had been _hell._ But the pain of losing Jon would have been even worse.

“In the Unknowing,” Jon says. “You protected me. You _saved_ me.”

Tim hesitates.

“I wasn’t really thinking,” he admits. “I mean, how could I? But I couldn’t—I wasn’t going to just _leave_ you.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” Jon admits.

“Jon, _no,”_ Tim frowns. “Yeah, you made a lot of mistakes, but I’m not going to leave you in a collapsing building! I mean, geez, who do you think I am?”

“I think you’re one of the greatest people I know,” Jon says. “I know that you’ve been mainly focused on revenge recently, but you’ve always been the best of us. Always thinking of others, always trying to lighten the mood… I should have appreciated you more, before everything happened. There’s no one in the world I’d rather be working with. I’m proud that I can say you were by my side, when we saved the world. And I’m… I’m glad you thought I was worthy enough to save.”

“Jon,” Tim says, voice soft. “Of course I was always going to save you.”

Jon smiles at him. Tim smiles back.

There’s a comfortable pause between the two of them that Gerry doesn’t know what to do with. He doesn’t know how to translate it, but he knows it’s filled with meaning, so he just waits until Tim finally looks away.

“We should, uh, probably head out,” Tim says. “No reason to creep around in these tunnels longer than we have to.”

“Oh, uh, yes,” Jon agrees. Martin helps him out of his chair. “I suppose I’ll—I’ll see you at work?”

Tim laughs at that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. See you then, boss.”

They start making their way out of the tunnels. It only takes a few minutes for Jon and Martin to head down a different passage, leaving Gerry alone with Tim.

“So,” Gerry says hesitantly, once he’s sure they’re out of earshot. “About the Unknowing…”

“I’m just as surprised as you are that I escaped,” Tim admits. “Guess all I learned about foundations and housing stuck with me more than I thought, huh?”

Gerry bites his lip. So maybe he hadn’t been wrong about the brushstrokes forming, then. It had been hard to see at first. There’s a difference between a mark of being attacked and a mark of becoming, but it wasn’t one easy to spot. Sometimes, you could tell what brand of paint someone used, but most of the time, red just looked like red. And Tim had already been marked a few times over before he had gone off to destroy the Circus.

“I don’t know how much of a _foundation_ a building like that has,” Gerry says. “Doubt it looked anything like it should have, when you got inside.”

Tim hesitates.

“It was definitely bigger than it should have been,” he admits. He knows what Gerry’s implying. Of course he does. He’s not an idiot. But that doesn’t mean he wants it to be true. “Way bigger than the floor plan made it seem.”

“And yet you still found a way out,” Gerry says.

“I did,” Tim admits. “It just—I was thinking of you, and Sasha, and suddenly, it just seemed so—so _clear._ I didn’t think to question it. Just knew it’d lead me home.”

“You made a choice to live,” Gerry says. “Personally, I’m pretty happy with the results. But I don’t think this is what you wanted.”

“I’m not—I’m not turning into _Jon,_ am I?” Tim asks.

“Of course not,” Gerry says. “You’re not the Archivist. Whatever the Eye wants from you, it’s not statements.”

Tim winces.

“It might be statements,” Gerry amends. “But it’ll probably be different.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised,” Tim sighs. “Of _course_ it found a way to sink its claws in me. Only a matter of time before I turned into something, working with—working at a place like this.”

“I remember how focused you were before the Unknowing,” Gerry says gently. “You wanted to find a way to survive—and I’m glad you did, no doubt about that. But you were praying for knowledge in a house devoted to it. Sometimes, these things are just answering your call.”

“If I was praying, it wasn’t to _them!”_ Tim snaps. He sighs again, then runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” Gerry says. “You can’t blame yourself for wanting to survive.”

Tim snorts, but doesn’t argue. The only thing Gerry hears for a few minutes is their footsteps echoing through the passageways.

Gerry’s not surprised that Tim’s changed. It gets hard not to, honestly. He just hadn’t expected the _Eye_ to be the one to do it. Tim was smart, yeah. Studious, too, when he wanted to be. But there was no desperate need to consume, to see the world and know it all. Tim was enveloped in the knowledge that life was nothing more than a moment. When Gerry had met Tim, he had been wearing his despair like an undershirt. It was easy to see, once he had gotten comfortable, just as it was easy to see that Terminus had its own hold on Tim. But things had changed. More than Gerry realized, apparently. The remnants of his helplessness were still etched into his face, but they didn’t hum with quite the same power as they used to. And Tim had had his own quest for knowledge. It had just been focused on the Circus, and a desire to stay alive. A desire to know enough to make it to the next day. Gerry could understand why the Eye might notice something like that. It had been why it had noticed him, after all.

“If I blind myself… do you think it’ll go away?” Tim asks carefully.

“It might,” Gerry says. “Stands to reason you wouldn’t be able to use the _Eye_ if you cut yours out, but I’m not sure if you’ve got to go that far. There’s a lot of choices you’ve got to make before knowing becomes a need. Most of them are pretty easy to avoid.”

“But it could still get worse,” Tim says.

“I won’t let it,” Gerry tells him. “I’m sorry.”

“What’ve _you_ got to be sorry for?” Tim asks.

For being the reason Tim made his choice? For not being able to stop him? For being aligned with the Eye, but not being able to offer any silver linings to the storm cloud coming Tim’s way?

“Dunno,” Gerry says. “Wish there was more I could do to help besides telling you not to indulge it. But it helps, I think, that you asked for something small.”

“Wanting to live is _something small?”_ Tim asks.

“You didn’t ask anyone to save you,” Gerry tells him. “Jon might’ve, but you wouldn’t. This wasn't some miracle. You told me yourself that you wanted to rely on your own abilities. So you got a new ability. And if you don’t use it, you’ll be almost the same as you were without it. You’re still human, Tim. This doesn’t change that.”

Tim goes quiet again.

“All I wanted a way out,” he says. Tim lets out a bitter laugh as they find themselves at one of the tunnel’s many exits. “Guess I found one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tim: idk why you think i'm eye-aligned. i mean, yeah, I've gotten information just by asking the right people, and sometimes, people tell me their secrets, but that is in NO WAY related to the fact that I've been obsessively combing through the library looking for information on Smirke, and then there was that week i got obsessed with figuring out how to live through a building collapse, but-  
> gerry: babe.
> 
> up next: a book about nostalgia


	3. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry and Tim think about old friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 162

The next two weeks pass pretty quickly. Peter Lukas gives all of them some days off, even Melanie and Martin, though they hadn’t been hurt. Gerry’s pretty sure Basira comes back first. She comes by to his flat a few days after they listened to the tape with a few statements clutched in one hand, crutch in the other, ready to ask about the Circus. She’s very… focused about the whole thing. A part of him can’t help but wonder if working so long with someone touched by the Hunt had made her a bit too willing to start her own chase. But that wasn’t his problem. Not yet, anyways.

Right now, Gerry’s just here to answer questions. He’d given Jon his number, and as soon as Martin went back to work, Jon had started texting Gerry about Peter. Apparently, he had offered Martin a job as his secretary which, why the hell would he take that? Either he could work in a lonely office for Peter, or he could spend his day working with his _boyfriend_ (According to Tim, they’d gotten together about a month before the Unknowing, after a few weeks of living together.) The choice was obvious. 

Unfortunately, Gerry didn’t know much about Peter. Not enough to be any help, at least. All Gerry knew other than his family patron was that he worked closely with the Institute which, yeah, _obviously._

Mostly, Gerry just listened to Jon and Tim rant about the man. It was definitely a bit suspicious that Peter wanted Martin alone, though Gerry wasn’t sure if the offer was just that he’d gone back to the Institute before Basira—not to work, he just needed a few statements for Jon—or if it had been more targeted. Whatever it was, Gerry doubted Peter had enough power to break up a couple that had just gotten together after months of pining. Or, as Tim put it, the Lonely was no match for their honeymoon phase.

Whatever case, Peter was clearly doing his best to prevent the Archives staff from speaking to each other and had been giving them weird assignments as an obvious excuse to keep them busy. Peter tells Martin to look into something called the Extinction, but says that Jon’s not allowed to do anything but “continue his work as Archivist,” which apparently meant that he could look into the Watcher’s Crown and the Web all he liked, as long as he did it alone and didn’t bother Peter. He’s also apparently been suggesting Basira and Melanie go on work trips, which for some reason, they’ve been taking him up on, even though the bullet was still in Melanie’s leg. 

Basira had promised to get some nerve block to help cut it open, but Melanie had apparently said she’d take it out herself, just as long as they waited until she wasn’t so _damn busy._ Unfortunately, it seemed like Peter was keeping her pretty “damn busy.” 

At least none of the trips seemed like something that’d actually put her in real danger. Gerry had warned her. His job was done. Gerry really didn’t think he should have to confront someone just because her friends were afraid to maybe be just a little pushy and make her deal with her issues. _Christ._

Yeah, he knew they were stuck working for an avatar of the Lonely, but _so did they._ They should be able to see through the fog. It wasn’t Gerry’s responsibility to lead them into the light.

Besides, Melanie was angry, but rarely violent. Sure, she made threats, but he hadn’t seen her follow through with any. So really, all it was was a few intrusive thoughts.

Okay, a _lot_ of intrusive thoughts. But that didn’t mean he was the right person to help her with them. _His_ intrusive thoughts were a much different breed.

Gerry would help if Tim asked, but Tim hadn’t been back long enough to form an opinion on the matter. He had refused to go back to work until withdrawal from the Archives had given him a migraine, and had stayed at Gerry’s until then. Tim might’ve lasted a couple more days if Gerry hadn’t insisted he go back, but Gerry doesn’t feel guilty about that. He’d rather have Tim moan about work than see him suffer. Then again, he still had his concussion, so Tim would suffer either way.

Well, that wasn't a fun thought.

The whole Eye thing definitely didn’t help. They hadn’t talked much more about it yet. Tim had said that he wanted to have at least _one moment_ where everything in his life didn’t revolve around the Institute, so they agreed to drop it until he returned to work, and until then, just enjoy his time off. But of course, that meant that they both wanted that time off to last as long as possible.

At least Tim was returning to work relatively stress-free. Gerry had been more or less able to take his mind off everything, mainly by trying to be a good partner and comically failing at making pancakes. Gerry just wasn’t too great at making anything that required any kind of waiting which, unfortunately, included pancakes. 

First, he’d gotten too impatient, and put them on the pan before it had finished heating up and undercooked a few. Then he’d left the pan too hot and burnt the rest. Tim had laughed at that, and said that he’d still love Gerry even if he was an absolute disaster in the kitchen, but pancakes were good food and Gerry deserved to be able to make some for himself and had helped him make another batch. 

That had been over a week ago. Now, Tim’s back at work, which means that he’s got the very important job of wandering around the Institute looking for explosives and Gerry has way too much free time. Gerry doesn’t really want to go looking for any Leitners because he doesn’t know what’s going on in the Archives, and he doesn’t particularly like the idea of being busy if Tim needs him.

He could try and paint something. Gerry hadn’t used acrylics in a while. Hadn’t done any kind of painting, really. He thinks the last finished art piece he made might have been using Kira’s tablet. 

The truth was, adjusting his style had sounded exhausting. He’d put too much work into painting to want to see how little of his skill remained. No reason he couldn’t start now, except, of course, that he doesn’t really want to.

It’s not like that was his only option, of course. There’d been plenty of things in London he hadn’t gotten around to revisiting. He’d promised to get Basil and Kira proper English chocolate, for one. Restaurants that he missed because, yeah, he could get those dishes anywhere, but none of them tasted the same as they did when he was home. There were clubs he hadn’t had a chance to go back to, though he doubted they’d be open at this hour.

And there was Portia.

She’d been the one to tattoo all the eyes on his joints. He’d expected some questions, honestly, but Portia had made it pretty clear that a few eyes was far from the strangest request she had gotten. Portia had just nodded and started talking about a timeline. Unsurprisingly, it had taken a while. Long enough that by the end of it, she’d almost known him. Close enough that she called him Gerry. 

She had given him her number and invited him over to her flat and he’d responded by completely disappearing from her life.

He hadn’t meant to. It was just that as soon as he’d managed to work up the courage to try and meet up with her as a friend instead of her client, Gertrude had told him they were going to travel to look for a way to stop the Circus, and before that, he’d spent more of his time freaking out, sure that despite everything, it’d be his own body that ended him.

Gerry hadn’t handled it well. He doubts anyone really ever does, but he knows the way he treated his body in response to the diagnosis wasn’t fair. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, which meant numbing his mind and missing appointments, or showing up and remembering none of it, so filled with fear that something so boring and _normal_ would somehow be the thing to do him in. Meeting Gertrude had at least given him a way to keep his mind off things. He’d cleaned up a bit, convinced himself that at least if the worst came to pass, he could rest knowing his life ended with him doing some good, but a part of him had always hoped Gertrude would notice and tell him it wasn’t worth it. Force him to go back to London, tell him he was no use to her sick, _whatever._

Gerry’s not exactly sure what he wanted from her. It was just— 

He hadn’t even cut his hair when he started chemo. They always say you should. That skullcap treatments can only get you so far, and it’s easier to keep it short then start shedding everywhere, but it was a pretty obvious sign _something_ was wrong, right? Reason enough to ask, if you cared, but Gertrude—

Gertrude had just told him he was too young to be losing his hair. And that he was too old to be making such a mess.

Eventually, he just cut his hair himself. His hands shook too much for it to be anything close to even, but it’s not like he was going to ask _Gertrude_ to help him. It was just hair. Hair he’d been growing out since he was a teen, the _one_ part of himself he always tried to take care of, no matter what kind of weariness the rest of his body felt.

It was just hair.

It hadn’t been a great time to quit smoking, to say the least. It had been even a worse time to have something forcing him to stop. Gerry hadn’t taken kindly to something making choices for him, especially when he didn’t know why Michael cared.

He had screamed at it to mind its own business. Demanded that it let him have this _one thing._ He was going to die anyways, right? No way he of all people would be lucky enough to survive a _brain tumor._ So why, with all that, was he _still_ being tormented by the Spiral? With everything Gerry was doing to himself, what was there left for Michael distort?

At least Michael had the decency to try and look guilty after hearing that. Emotions were… difficult for it, to say the least. Gerry knows that now. Michael had been trying its best to be good, but what was good for a creature of deceit wasn’t ever going to be something Gerry ever wanted.

Michael apologized for scaring Gerry. It had told him that it could understand feeling a sense of wrongness with your body, but it could no longer imagine the helplessness that came with that. All it had ever felt was anger.

The problem, Gerry had realized, wasn’t that Michael had been trying to make him a meal. It was that it was trying to help, and that it was too far from human to know how to do it properly. 

It was a lonely feeling to be so misunderstood by something trying to help. And sometimes, that was all you got.

It had tried to be more human, after that. Talked a bit more about being Shelley, though it winced at the memory of its own humanity. But if it was making such an effort just to talk to Gerry, well, surely he could try a bit harder to stay alive, right?

But trying to find a _reason_ to live—that was too much to ask of him then. And he didn’t want to seek Portia out if he couldn’t trust his own mortality. No point in saying hello if another farewell was just around the corner. 

If things had gone a little differently, Gerry might not have even tried to keep in touch. He would have just seen it as another unfortunate consequence of living as he did. Portia had been nice to him, once. That should have been enough. He shouldn’t ask for more than that.

Except, he could. 

One day, Kira had asked him if there was anyone he missed back home, and he answered honestly. Told them that Portia meant more to him than she probably realized, and that he had no good excuse for breaking things off so suddenly.

It had already been years since they talked by then. Far too long to reach out. Far too long to expect her to reach back. And of course, there was the matter of distance as well. Even if he had called her, how the hell was he supposed to explain why he’d moved all the way to _America_ of all places?

But the reality of it had been simple. He had missed her. She had missed him. 

The last time they met, he’d promised to come by to let Portia finally tattoo something that wasn’t just eyes, just as soon as the rest of his skin had healed enough from the burns that he could be painted again. The thought of missing out on that was almost too much for him. It was too much for Kira, too, when he had told them. They made him make a script for the conversation, to make sure he got the chance to say everything he needed to.

Gerry thinks he did. Portia had seemed happy to hear it, at least. She had told him she was glad he called. That she could forgive the long stretch of silence between them just so long as it didn’t happen again. And he had promised to keep in touch.

He hadn’t told her he was back in London, though. There were a lot of things he wanted to explain in person, but he could never find the words for any of them. So he just… kept putting it off. And he’d only really been back for a few months. Hardly any time, when you considered how long it had taken him to call her back in the first place.

It was so _stupid_ for him to be worried about seeing her again. What was he worried about? Her finally seeing his cane? He had already sent her pictures. She loved it. Bridget had, too.

It had been Kira’s idea to accessorize it, but Gerry’s idea to add the spikes. There was something weirdly comforting about having something he needed to walk look so sharp. And he liked that Basil kept finding him stickers to slap onto it.

Portia had promised to find him something to stick on it, too.

So, no, Portia wasn’t the problem.

Was it stupid if he said he was afraid to be known?

He’d told her about his cancer. Told her that he’d stayed in America to recover. But that had left out _so many_ details and he wasn’t used to people caring about him enough to ask. He didn’t know how it was supposed to go. But he knew he wasn’t ever going to meet up with her if he kept _worrying_ about it.

Of course, he could just show up at her tattoo parlor. Might be a nice surprise. 

Gerry knows himself. It’ll be easier for him to see her if he pretends it’s all just chance, but he wants their reunion to be special. Wants to have some proof that his life had been more than just tragedy after she had left it, but nothing had ever felt like enough. Not when she had seen how burnt his skin had been. Not when she had seen so many of his other scars. She had never judged. Never asked where they came from, though Gerry had felt the need to elaborate on some anyways. 

That hadn’t been the only thing they talked about, of course. He was capable of having normal conversations—well. He was capable of _trying._

He told her about Kira. And Basil, and Mae. Told her about some of the more normal weird shit he had gotten into, but, he could think of nothing so important that he’d want to tell her in person.

Honestly, Gerry thinks what he really wants is just something to brag about.

He does have a boyfriend now, though.

Portia’d probably _love_ to hear about that.

  
  


**Gerry:** hows work

 **Tim:** weirdly cold honestly

 **Tim:** and... muffled, maybe? i don't know

 **Tim:** it feels super empty, too. haven’t seen peter yet but i can FEEL him, yknow?

 **Gerry:** trying to avoid talking to people i guess

 **Tim:** probably

 **Tim:** martin’s still the only one who’s actually talked to him for more than a few seconds

 **Tim:** should I be worried about that? I get that he’s part of the lonely and all, but it kind of feels… targeted?

 **Gerry:** If the building’s already feeling empty clearly he’s got no problem getting rid of employees. But if he hasn’t done anything yet, he’s probably waiting for something

 **Tim:** cool!! great!!

 **Gerry:** might want to look out for some of the others. working in the archives gives you some amount of protection, but not everyone in the institute works down there

 **Tim:** what can i do? besides talk to them, I guess

 **Gerry:** talkings plenty

 **Gerry:** itll help them stay grounded. maybe tell them to think of loved ones, but dunno how well thatll go over

 **Tim:** “Yeah, hey. It’s Tim. Yeah, from the Archives? Yeah, well, I’ve got a tip that’ll really extend your work career: keep a picture of your mum on your desk. Why? Don’t worry about it. Just trust me.”

 **Gerry:** listen if they didnt realize they were working in a haunted building thats on them not you

 **Gerry:** lets just hope that peters too obsessed with his extinction thing to pay too much attention to them

 **Tim:** right

 **Tim:** do you believe him? is there really some kind of fifteenth entity coming?

 **Gerry:** even if there was, I’m not sure that I’d believe anything coming from peter lukas

 **Tim:** weren’t you telling us to take him seriously?

 **Gerry:** about the lonely. I have no proof he knows literally anything else

 **Tim:** well, he definitely doesn’t know how to run an institute, I’ll tell you that

 **Gerry:** yeah, they don’t really teach you stuff like that when you’re homeschooled

 **Gerry:** hows melanie? you fix her leg yet?

 **Tim:** she’s… not here

 **Gerry:** what.

 **Tim:** jon says that her and basira have been off on a roadtrip for the last couple of days

 **Tim:** don’t know WHY they keeping thinking this is a good idea but he tried to stop them

 **Tim:** says he reminded them about the bullet before they left but Melanie had kind of shrugged it off & said she still had shit to do

 **Gerry:** well. really don’t like that

 **Tim:** i mean, what were they supposed to do? hold her down and tear it out themselves??

 **Gerry:** i cant save her for you

 **Tim:** I can’t save her either!! I have a broken arm!

 **Tim:** when she comes back i’ll bully martin into it or something

 **Tim:** apparently, only way to get something done around here is to stare at someone till they do it in front of you

 **Gerry:** guess thats why you need an archivist

 **Tim:** it’s pretty bold of you to assume i’ve ever listened to anything jon’s said

 **Tim:** anyways, enough of me complaining about my day

 **Tim:** what've you been doing? hunting anything fun?

 **Gerry:** was thinking of meeting up with a friend

 **Gerry:** havent seen her in person since like… 2012?

 **Tim:** yeah? how'd you two meet?

 **Gerry:** she was my tattoo artist

 **Tim:** oh you owe that woman a LIFE DEBT go talk to her RIGHT NOW

 **Gerry:** [img: Portia, a woman with dark skin rolling her eyes fondly and standing next to Gerry. In the background is someone with red hair, clearly trying to photobomb the picture.]

 **Gerry:** she says shes glad to have my boyfriends approval

 **Tim:** <3

Jon and Martin come by the day after to listen to the tape about Sasha.

Gerry still wasn’t sure it was the best idea—after all, he knew firsthand how much a recording could hurt—but Tim had insisted.

“I can’t trust any of my memories of her,” he said. “I have to know that something about her was real.”

There was no arguing with that, not when Gerry could see how much Tim would suffer through to get his answer. And they’d already been putting it off. Taking time to prepare themselves, if you wanted a kinder lie. Either way, the tape is strange. 

It’s weird hearing someone you love sound so happy with someone else. Gerry’s not jealous, just sad. The Tim he knows is happy, but he’ll never be the Tim on the tape again.

Gerry thinks he’d have liked Sasha, if he had gotten the chance to actually know her. But all he’d ever know is that the woman on the tape is sharp enough to see through some of the Institute’s bullshit and that she laughs along with the Tim beside her. It’s hard to describe the kind of pain Gerry sees in Tim’s eyes from what should have been just a few casual jokes. Hard to explain how it feels to hear Tim’s voice say _“Jimmy Magma”_ and watch the Tim next to him choke up. It’s weird as _hell_ to listen to Sasha talk about masks, knowing what got her. 

But no, that wasn’t right. Of _course_ she was talking about masks—look at what got her. 

Jon and Martin get a bit misty-eyed as well. They love her just as much as Tim does. Gerry can feel an ache in their chests where Sasha James should be. They’re both a little surprised to hear themselves mentioned on tape. Martin looks almost… honored, maybe? That Tim and Sasha worried about him in their spare time. Jon, though, tries to disappear into his jumper at the reminder of how much of an asshole he apparently used to be. 

It’s strange to see them all look so nostalgic for someone they can’t remember. 

They all wince when the Tim on the tape starts joking about burning the Archives to the ground. When Sasha declares herself “unforgettable,” Tim starts openly weeping. Gerry pulls him into a hug just as the Tim on the tape starts joking about drugs and wild orgies. Tim pushes back against him, briefly, shifting his body to ensure he could still hear Sasha's last words. Because what was his comfort compared to her memory?

“I’m fine,” Tim tells Gerry, voice muffled by fabric. “I just—that actually went down pretty much like I remembered it. I didn’t expect that, considering, well, _everything.”_

Tim pulls away to dry his eyes and gives Gerry an uneven smile.

“It just…” Tim takes a breath. “Makes me feel like I really knew her.”

 _You did,_ Gerry wants to say. He can’t possibly know that, but he wants to believe it. He knows Tim’s tears are real. Just because love is removed from context doesn’t mean it never existed.

Gerry wants to ask how well she knew Gertrude. She was already so close to figuring it out on the tape, and that couldn’t have been more than a few months after they started. He sees why Gertrude thought she’d make a great Archivist, though Gerry doesn’t want to speak ill of the dead.

“Do you want me to keep the tape?” Gerry asks instead. There was nothing else to say, after all. This was probably the one record that required no analysis. It spoke of no secrets. No conspiracies, other than a geriatric one. It was just a tape. A conversation between friends.

“It’s… safer here,” Jon says, taking obvious effort to keep his voice steady. He sniffs. “All of the tapes are. And she—she deserves to be as far removed from the Archives as possible.”

Gerry takes the tape out of the recorder and holds it carefully in his hand. Tim touches it briefly and murmurs a prayer to _la Negrita._ Gerry had only been to Costa Rica once, but he knows enough to recognize the country’s patron saint. He’s sure Sasha would have appreciated the gesture.

It’s strange, holding onto something like this. In all of the other tapes Gerry and Tim had looked through, none had been so completely without fear. Gertrude had never bothered to record anything that wasn’t a statement or a warning, but this wasn’t a statement. And listening to it in Gerry’s flat, there were no warnings. It contained no mention of any of the countless horrors that could befall a person. The Tim and Sasha on the tape felt no danger, only affection. They weren’t thinking about Elias, or who he might really be. They were thinking about their _friends._ Enjoying their lives. The roll of tape in Gerry’s hands was nothing more than a window into a kind of gentle normalcy he had never known. 

“Okay,” Gerry tells them. “I’ll keep it safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: mentions of past cancer and poor coping mechanisms
> 
> Remember how I mentioned in Velveteen Rabbit that Sasha was from Costa Rica? No? That's okay! I remembered.  
> Portia comes from my friend Parker's fic, a Temporary Fix, which you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327601/chapters/58654819
> 
> up next: a book about anger


	4. A Group Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he opens the door, the first thing he sees is Melanie, splattered with dark sap and panting heavily. She’s standing over the one half of Breekon and Hope. Basira stands nearby, leaning on a crutch. Christ, he can’t believe she’s doing all this on a broken ankle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: a new release  
> supplemental reading: MAG 128

GERTRUDE

And you’re sure you want to make this statement together?

SARAH

I was with Michael the whole time, I’m not going to leave him now! Besides, he can help fill in the details.

MICHAEL 

I’m not sure how much else there is to say, honestly, but I’ll try my best.

GERTRUDE

Mmm. Very well. Statement of Michael Shelley and Sarah Carpenter regarding a building owned by Peter Lukas.

SARAH

I don’t think I would have made it out if i was alone. A part of me still can’t believe how empty the whole place was. I mean, the building looked big—like, _really_ big, but then when we got inside, all of the walls suddenly just seemed so _close_ . I don’t think I would have noticed it if I wasn’t with Michael, but everything felt like it was _almost_ enough. The hallways were almost enough for two people. The lights were almost bright enough. The heat almost worked. The elevator took long enough that we almost left without it. The staircases had enough room, but, thanks to the railings, you still had to walk alone. And then when we finally got to see one of the rooms, it looked like it _should_ have enough space for two people, but you’d have to completely renovate the place first. But it was cheap enough that I was still thinking that maybe it was almost worth it.

MICHAEL

And then we got split up.

SARAH

We did! I don’t know how. But I know how bad Michael is with directions. And the place was creepy. So I was holding his hand. But then suddenly, I just… wasn’t. I remember letting go, only for a moment, as I stepped through the door to one of the flats. But when I tried to grab Michael’s hand again, I realized he wasn’t there.

I was alone.

I was alone and the fog was coming in, and I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t really _scared—_ I mean, Gertrude, you know me, I know there’s bigger things to worry about than an _empty building—_ but Michael had lent me his jumper, and all I could think about was if I had gotten taken by a ghost, I’d never get the chance to return it. Then I noticed the tenant we had been talking to had left, too, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. I mean, this was his house. Where would he go? But I didn’t see a reason to wait around if they weren’t there, so I left. 

When I went out, the hallways seemed… I don’t know. Angrier? They had stopped being almost enough for two and were now barely enough for one. I don’t know how long I spent wandering the halls. I know I knocked on every door I could find, but no one ever answered. It felt like I spent _hours_ calling out for some kind of companionship. Even if it was just to take a statement, I needed to know that I wasn’t alone.

Eventually, I started doubting if I really came in with anyone. I mean, yes, the hallway seemed thinner, but that had to be in my imagination, right? It wasn’t like the walls could just start closing in on me. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I was alone. Why would you send me here with _Michael?_ We’d never really done any work together, and I couldn’t think of an explanation for why something like _this_ would need two people. So… I had to be alone, because there was nothing else I could be. 

Except, I was still wearing Michael’s jumper. It was a really cold building, Gertrude! And I didn’t want to take it, because I knew he would be cold, but he had another layer, and I was wearing short sleeves, so he insisted. I’m glad he did, because now that I was alone, it seemed twice as cold. But if _I_ was getting cold, then Michael had to be _freezing._ So I had to find him and give it back.

MICHAEL

I can stand being cold for a few minutes, Sarah.

SARAH

Yes, but you always look so _sad!_ You shiver like a wet dog, Michael. It’s dreadful to see in person. And, well, weird as it sounds, that’s what convinced me that I really needed to find you.

GERTRUDE

And how did you do that?

SARAH

I’m not really sure? It was just, well… I made the decision to find him. And there he was.

MICHAEL

I heard you pacing outside in the hallways. I’m sorry, Sarah. You were thinking of me, but I hadn’t even realized you’d left.

SARAH

I’m not going to blame you for getting distracted with work. I mean, we went there _because_ of work. But, that’s my statement. I don’t know what’s wrong with that place, and I don’t care. Maybe the color of the wallpaper was just making me depressed. Maybe I wasn’t knocking as hard as I thought. In the end, what mattered was that I was alone, and it was that place that made me feel that way. I’m glad I didn’t go in by myself. I’m glad I had someone to help me find my way out. So thank you, Michael. For helping me find my way back.

MICHAEL

I don’t know if I really did anything so worthy of praise. It was just a jumper, Sarah. And it was only a house.

SARAH

Just a house? Michael… 

GERTRUDE

Well, I think the both of you will be very happy to find that there should be enough to shut this building down without an account of your experience.

MICHAEL

So you have enough for your article?

GERTRUDE

Mmm, yes, I believe I do.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

  
  
  


Basira’s calling him. 

It’s not a surprise, not exactly. He’d given her his number a little while back because he could tell she had questions and didn’t want her to keep showing up at his flat, but he hadn’t heard from her since before Tim had gone back to work.

“We found something,” Basira says, when Gerry picks up his phone. “Can you—I’m not actually sure what to do with all of this. Oh, ugh, is this blood? It looks so _weir—_ oh, don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

“Where are you?” Gerry asks. Basira tells him. “What? Why there?”

“Oh,” Basira says. She sounds distracted. “Right. Well, we found the delivery man.”

“I’ll be there,” Gerry tells her. 

He hangs up his phone and tilts his head further upwards. 

“Helen?” Gerry calls. A door appears. “Cool. Thanks.”

When he opens the door, the first thing he sees is Melanie, splattered with dark sap and panting heavily. She’s standing over the one half of Breekon and Hope. Basira stands nearby, leaning on a crutch. Christ, he can’t believe she’s doing all this on a _broken ankle._

“Is that—did you _kill_ him?” Gerry asks. Melanie looks up at Gerry, eyes bloodshot.

“Not dead,” she manages. “Not yet, anyways.”

She grins at him. Her teeth look just a bit too sharp. Breekon stirs, clawing at a knife—a pocket knife, thankfully, something that looked normal enough that Gerry doubted it’d been summoned—buried in his leg. His skin’s peeling like rubber in several different areas, and Gerry can see the scratched wooden frame underneath. There’s a part of his face that’s chipped like stone. Melanie leans down to stick the knife in deeper and Breekon lets out a long string of curses in Russian as sap spills out of him.

At least there didn’t seem to be that much of a struggle. Just a few lucky hits. If he’s without his partner, he’s weak. Hopefully, that means there wasn’t too much actual fighting.

“So what should we do with the van?” Basira asks, seemingly unaware of the brutality around her. “Bring everything in it to Artefact Storage? Would that be safe?”

Gerry blinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Well… yeah?” Basira replies. “I mean, what’s he going to do?”

“When Hope gets here—” Gerry cuts himself off. “Actually, where _is_ Hope? It’s not like them to travel alone.”

“Dead,” Basira says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Think Daisy killed him.”

“Killed him,” Gerry repeats. Breekon and Hope were older than the Circus. And Daisy, with her wild rage had just… killed him.

“We fed your beast to the pit,” Breekon snarls.

“What pit?” Gerry demands.

“We… _I_ hope it hurts,” Breekon says. “Hope you spend th’ rest of your days staring at that box. Bet she’s hurting down there. Bet that hurts you. No way you’ll see her again, not ‘les you jump in for her.”

The anger in his voice is obvious, but he makes no move to attack. He has every right to, every right to at least try and fight back, but Breekon doesn’t seem to think the effort worth it. Gerry’s seen two-bodied creatures before. Without their other halves, they die, slowly wasting away into the two that was one becomes zero. Breekon’s fate was sealed the moment Daisy set her sights on Hope. He’s nothing but a ghost now. His words are all he has left.

“Never hated anyone before,” Breekon continues. “Never felt the need to. But I hate the lot of you. ‘S a good thing you found me. Wouldn’t have been able t’ resist coming t’ that Institute of yours. Whatever happens t’ me… Last delivery will always have been one with _him._ Can’t take that from me.”

Breekon stands, swaying on unsteady legs. He glares at Basira. 

“You tore him from me,” Breekon spits. “Made _us_ a _me._ I’ll spend my last days alone. Fine. But you will, too. You won’t fade same as me, but you’ll still suffer. The short one can hurt me all you like, but pain don’t matter once you’ve got revenge. But guess you know what that’s like.”

“I’m not like you,” Basira says. She sounds almost bored, but her hand hovers over her gun holster. Gerry knows she’s not going to reach for it. Not with such unsteady hands. 

Breekon laughs.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” he says, twisting his mouth something that barely resembles a smile. Hidden beneath it, there’s something that looks like grief.

In a way, it was almost funny. Poetic, maybe. 

Looking for Daisy had given Basira a purpose, and yet, Daisy had killed Hope.

It had ruined Breekon, but it had remade Basira into enough of a hunter to find him in—how long had it been? This trip had only taken a few days, but she’d been searching before that. Had this entire quest only taken two weeks?

Yeah, Gerry could believe that. From the bags under her eyes, Basira had forgone sleep in the hopes of reaching a faster conclusion. Daisy was her reason to keep moving, after all. Not her reason for living.

“Forget about him,” Gerry insists. “Without his other half, he’s as good as dead. Doing him in isn’t worth either of your humanity.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Basira says, suddenly defensive. “Melanie wanted to come. She needed some time away from the Institute, and I needed—”

“Needed a partner?” Gerry asks, lips curling.

“Maybe I did,” Basira says. “Because I needed to know I’d survive whatever came at me. And if you or Martin weren’t going to help, yeah, I’ll take Melanie. Maybe she’s a little angry now, but anger doesn’t last forever.”

“That’s the problem.” Gerry grits his teeth. Couldn't she hear him? What about this didn't she understand? “It _will._ You can’t indulge something like this. Not if you want to keep what’s left of your friend. This isn’t just some _superpower_ you can pull out when things get dangerous. I told you something was up with her because I wanted you to stop it!”

“I didn’t stop her because she didn’t _want_ me to,” Basira says. “It’s not my choice to make.”

“Then she dies,” Gerry tells her.

“That can’t be—”

“It is. In the end, that’s all there is.”

Basira turns away. Gerry sighs and looks back at Melanie.

She looks tired. Now that the adrenaline’s fading, she seems less like a monster-to-be and more like a fucked up person. Good thing Gerry knows how to deal with that, too.

“You feeling okay?” Gerry asks her. Melanie stands up and takes a step towards him. 

“I don’t…” she frowns. “I don’t know what happened to my knife.”

A good question. It had fallen out of Breekon some time ago, but where it had fallen, Gerry couldn’t say. Not that he cared. A missing knife was the least of their worries.

“That’s okay,” Gerry says. “I’ll buy you a new one. Let’s just get out of here.”

“But what do we do with him?” Basira asks. “And his van—is it worth taking back to the Institute?”

Gerry sighs.

“Nothing needs to happen to him,” Gerry says. “He’s dying. You can keep his van. He won’t be able to stop you.”

Basira looks disappointed that he doesn’t have more to offer. Well, too bad.

The thing is, Gerry has plenty of advice. He could tell her that Helen might eat Breekon for her, if she asked nicely, or say that while there was no doubt plenty of artefacts in the van, Gerry doubted anyone but Breekon and Hope were keeping track of them. No one would go looking for it. If she wanted to take it, no one would stop her from claiming it as her prize. But why tell her any of that?

Gerry had underestimated her. When he first saw Melanie, Gerry could tell that unless something dramatic happened, leaving her alone for a couple of weeks should be fine. That had been why Gerry hadn’t pushed when Basira said it might take her some time to get the nerve block. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

“She’s in the Coffin,” Basira says. “Daisy, I mean. That’s what Breekon was saying. I know you said I wouldn’t get her out of there, but—it’s not impossible, right? There’s still a way?”

Of course there was. The question was, was it _worth_ it? Gerry didn’t like how focused she was. Didn’t think it could lead to anything good.

“Worry more about the people you _can_ save before you go on a suicide mission like that,” Gerry says. He turns to Melanie. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Melanie doesn’t argue. She doesn’t say anything. Just lets Gerry lead her away from the blood.

Her flat is a disaster.

“I can’t sleep,” Melanie says. “Too much adrenaline. And there’s… I’ve been getting nightmares. So I haven’t really been—it’s just—well, you know how it is. You feel like a mess, and pretty soon your whole house is.”

“That’s okay,” Gerry says. “I don’t judge.”

“I didn’t want to hear it,” Melanie continues, barely pausing to acknowledge his words. “About the bullet, I mean. But I always knew it was there. I’m not an _idiot._ I can tell when something’s wrong. It was kind of obvious, really.”

Melanie sits down in a chair, seemingly unbothered by the fact she’s still covered by the treestuff Breekon has instead of blood. Some of it’s already gotten on her chair.

“They couldn’t find it when I went to hospital,” Melanie says. “Even though they knew it was a bullet wound, they couldn’t help. All they could do was stitch me back up. And… And I could tell that something was different. But it’s so easy to be angry, you know? First it was because no one would believe me, then it was because I could tell Tim and Martin didn’t want me to be here. And then _I_ didn’t want to be there, so—so I tried to use that anger. Find a way to off Elias. And he showed me…”

Melanie trails off.

“Did you know Elias can put memories into your head?” she asks. “Make you feel someone else’s pain?”

“Martin said something like that,” Gerry says. He’d been just as cagey about the details, too. Gerry wished he could have promised that whatever it was, it wasn’t real, but the most comfort he could give was that it wasn’t the full picture. When Gerry had told Martin that, he had laughed and said that still meant it was part of the story. Gerry doesn’t think he’ll be able to comfort Melanie, either.

“Easier to be angry than to think about how it’s all my fault. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, all I can see is my dad’s last moments, and it makes me feel so…” Melanie cuts herself off. When she stands, Gerry can see the way her body trembles. Is it fury? Despair? He’s not sure he knows her well enough to say. “I need a drink.”

“I think,” Gerry says carefully. “You should probably take a shower first. Maybe make yourself tea.”

“I don’t drink tea,” Melanie says.

“Neither do I,” Gerry says. “But I know how to fix the anger. The supernatural part of it, anyways. The other stuff’s a bit more complicated.”

Melanie tilts her head. Gerry’s not sure if she’s considering it, or if her heightened senses are picking up something worthy to fight. He really hopes she doesn’t fight him.

“There’s a cafe down the street,” Melanie says finally. “Buy me hot chocolate. And a muffin.”

“What kind?”

“Don’t care,” Melanie says. “But if you give me something with fruit in it, I’ll gut you.”

Gerry rolls his eyes. Chocolate chip it was, then.

When Gerry comes back, Melanie’s already showered off the blood and changed into a new outfit. He’s momentarily surprised at how ready she still looks to fight, but he thinks that might just be a part of who she is. Definitely part of her Youtuber persona, at least. 

Gerry had watched a few videos. They were fake—obviously so, if he’s being honest—but they were fun. Melanie had longer hair back then. Right now, it’s just a choppy mess, but in all her videos, it was pulled back into a thick brown braid. Funny thing was, her hair was always kept down when they were doing research. It was only when they needed to get inside somewhere that she pulled it back. As if doing your hair up suddenly meant you were ready to fight the intangible. She had definitely acted like it did. Her anger in Ghost Hunt Uk seemed almost performative, somehow. Like it was part of the show. Something to be used only to yell at ghosts and not poison her boss, or fight back against monsters that could swallow her whole. The Melanie on her channel knew she was safe, and let her confidence in that echo in her wolf-like grin. 

A lot had changed since then. Obviously.

“Was gonna offer to buy you some melatonin or something, but I figured you would’ve tried that,” Gerry says, handing her her drink. Melanie sighs and pulls up a chair.

“Stuff like that can only do so much,” she says. “Doesn’t really help with the dreams, anyways. And it’s been—I’ve been like this for a while now. I guess it wasn’t really anger, at first. I was… restless. Had to do something, you know? So I tried going back to work and freaked out. And it was easy to get angry about _that,_ because suddenly, everyone I knew was treating me like I was crazy because I was talking about ghosts. I was the host of a _ghost show!_ And just like that, I was out of work. And that made me really angry. But then—”

Melanie pauses for a moment, clutching her hot chocolate in her hand.

“Then I got hired by the Magnus Institute,” she says quietly. “And that made me angry, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says. Melanie laughs.

“Did you really think it was going to be easy?” she asks him. “You’d tell me that a ghost shot me, and it was poisoning my brain, and I’d go ‘Well, can’t have that!’ And agree to let you _cut open_ my leg?”

“Guess not,” Gerry admits. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if he wanted to, Gerry couldn’t save her. There was just no way his hands would cooperate enough for him to do anything that resembled surgery. Whatever happened to Melanie, the Archives would have to be the one to do it. It wasn’t his problem. It shouldn’t have been, anyways. Melanie was cool, but she was a _stranger._ Why should _he_ be the one to save her when she had several very capable coworkers that could easily do the job? 

His fault for assuming they would act on their own, maybe. His fault for assuming the Slaughter would ever go down easy.

“I’m kind of squeamish, actually,” Gerry adds. “Was hoping to convince someone else to come at you with that scalpel.”

Melanie laughs again.

“Guess it’s no surprise you went to Basira, then,” she says. “I think she would have done it eventually. She was just worried about Daisy. Can't really blame her for that.”

“She should have been worried about you,” Gerry says. Melanie shrugs.

“What’s she supposed to do? Basira’s never known me to be anything _but_ angry,” she says. “She could have cared more, sure, but that goes for all of us. Institute’s a hard place to work if you care about other people, I guess.” 

Gerry couldn’t really argue with that. It was why Gertrude had survived, after all. She hadn't cared about anyone, and she had lasted 40 years in the Archives. Caring was just another potential way to get hurt, so she had cut kindness out of her life. And it made her a _shit_ person. 

“Still,” Gerry says. “Surprised you're not more mad.”

“The bullet stayed in because I wanted it to,” Melanie says. “That’s not on Basira. If I’m mad at anyone, it should be me, for getting myself in this mess. I mean, like I said, it’s comforting, you know? Easier to be mad and try to kill your boss than to think of all the ways he’s managed to trap you there.”

Melanie takes a bite of her muffin.

“She’s been weird lately,” she says. “Dunno what’s up between her and Daisy, but she’s not about to leave her trapped. And she just survived the Circus. I think it’s making her overestimate herself. Basira got out all by herself, you know? And you gave her hope. It’s not that she doesn’t know it’s dangerous. It’s just that the Unknowing was dangerous, too. And if _that_ hadn’t hurt her, what the hell was one measly delivery driver supposed to do?”

“You don’t think she realized what’d happen?” Gerry asks.

“I don’t know how much she was thinking about the consequences,” Melanie says. She laughs. “She’s weirdly optimistic, honestly. Probably thought she wouldn’t need my help. I think she’s just not used to doing these things alone.”

It wasn't really a comforting explanation. But Gerry couldn’t blame Basira for coming to that kind of conclusion, not when he could see that this wasn’t a case of a rose-tinted dream. What this was was willful ignorance in the face of desperation. One way or another, Basira was going to find Daisy. Of course she’d want to convince herself that she’d survive the journey.

But once the shock of the explosion finally fades and something new declares the Archives as its prey, Basira would have to understand how foolish she had been. There was only so much hope you could keep in a place like the Archives. Gerry wasn’t cruel enough to want her to lose it all, but Basira’s careless optimism had hurt Melanie. Gerry hated that he had allowed that.

“Still,” he says. “She shouldn’t have gone with you. You can’t tell me she didn’t expect this.”

“I think Basira’s pretty good at only seeing the things she wants to see.” Melanie snorts. “Probably made her a pretty good cop.”

Gerry hums in agreement.

“How’d you get Breekon to tell you where Daisy was?” he asks. “Didn’t look like he was in much of a mood to talk when I saw him. Unless that was you?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t like that,” Melanie says. “He wanted to tell us. He only got violent when Basira started pushing. She had a _lot_ of questions. He told her the only way she was getting his statement is if he tore it out of him, and then he lunged at her, and I—yeah.”

Melanie looks down.

“Yeah,” Gerry agrees.

“Basira helped take him down, though,” Melanie says. “Shot him in the heart after I’d stabbed him. Or something close enough, at least.”

She squirms in her chair. 

“Sorry. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Basira’s—I’d like to think we’re friends, you know? But if I think about this anymore, I’ll get angry.”

“It’s alright,” Gerry tells her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Thanks,” Melanie says. She stares at what’s left of her muffin, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought I had it under control, honestly. Might’ve been able to live with it if it hadn’t been for Peter. He gave me a list of all these places getting hit by the Corruption when he took over. I couldn’t say no to something like that, not after my Dad, no matter what it did to me. And honestly, I think Basira only asked me to come with so there’d be someone who knew where she’d gone off. So, if you want to blame someone…”

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says.

“Why?” Melanie asks. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I could have realized how bad it was,” Gerry tells her. “I should have—I don’t know. I could have done more.”

“Maybe,” Melanie says. Her tone is surprisingly calm. “But I don’t think there’s anything you could have done to make me listen. Only thing that really shook me out of it was seeing your face. You looked like you were worried about me.”

“I’m not the only one,” Gerry says. Melanie shakes her head.

“You were worried I was going to get hurt,” she tells him. “Everyone else was worried about me hurting someone. Except Basira, I guess. Maybe that’s why I went with her. She didn’t look worried, which meant she came the closest to caring about _me,_ and not… not the bullet.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says again. He understands. The Slaughter is terrifying. Of course they want that anger out of their Archives. But right now, Melanie _is_ that anger. Which means it's her they’re trying to banish, not just the fear.

“I guess maybe I was lonely,” Melanie says. She smiles like she’s telling a joke, but neither of them laugh. “I mean, I knew what was wrong with me—we all knew! But it didn’t feel like any of them _got_ it. Easy to tell someone that what they’re doing is just going to hurt themselves. Bit harder to get them to understand why you’d want to put yourself in harm's way. I guess I was feeling a little defensive. You’d think in a place like the Archives, there’d be someone who understands, but, well, all I had was Basira.”

“She doesn’t seem incredibly sympathetic,” Gerry agrees.

“Basira thinks you can conquer anything with a bit of willpower.” Melanie snorts at the thought. “Worked for her, right? So what’s wrong with me that I can’t power through this?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think that infected wound of yours might be doing some damage,” Gerry says. He takes a step forward, but, realizing Melanie might not want to be touched, steps back again. “I don’t think you can be expected to heal when you’re still losing blood.”

“You’ve got a really funny way of talking, you know that?” Melanie tells him. “Anyone ever tell you you should write poetry?”

“Somehow, that’s never come up,” Gerry says. He pulls up a chair and sits next to her. “You feeling better? Relatively speaking, I mean.”

“I feel… more focused, I guess,” Melanie says. “Head’s a bit clearer now that I’m home. I don’t know, it’s good hot chocolate. And there’s not much to fight right now. All I’m really thinking about is how much money you must’ve spent getting all those tattoos done.”

“Yeah, well, it was money well spent,” Gerry says. Melanie laughs.

“So what’s the deal with them, anyways?” she asks. “Can you see out of them?”

“Can I see out of my _tattoos?”_

“Oh, come on!” Melanie shoves him gently. “Don’t pretend that’s so absurd. I’ve seen some pretty weird shit. Bet you have, too.”

“I have seen someone with a few extra eyes, actually,” Gerry admits. “But they were with the Flesh, so I’m assuming it was just an aesthetic choice.”

“Ugh, of _course,”_ Melanie says, shaking her head. “They’re all such weirdos.”

“If I could see out of my eyes, would that make me a weirdo?” Gerry asks her.

“Absolutely,” Melanie speaks without hesitation. “But you’d be a cooler one.”

“Gee, thanks,” Gerry says. He hesitates for a few moments before speaking again. “Do you want me to cut open your leg now? Can’t say it’s the smartest decision, but…”

“I think I’m good, yeah,” Melanie tells him. “No offense, but I kind of don’t want you coming at me with a scalpel.”

“Just thought I’d offer,” Gerry says. “It’s your anger. You deserve to choose when it leaves you.”

“I think I’ll choose sometime _after_ I buy painkillers,” Melanie jokes. “But… thanks, I guess. For getting me home. And for not pushing, before.”

“Really?” Gerry asks. Melanie nods.

“I know it took me a while to get here,” she says. “But I’m glad you let this be my choice.”

Gerry goes to the Archives the next day. 

He doesn’t like being down here, but he needs to find Jon, which means he needs to—

Oh.

Basira’s here.

“Oh,” she says. She’s bringing a stack of statements back to her desk. “Uh, hey. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about anchors, would you? You know, just—something to bring you back from everything?”

“There’s loads of ways to avoid getting nabbed by something,” Gerry tells her. “But most of them involve caring about people.”

Basira glares at him.

“I have plenty of people I care about,” she says. “It’s just none of them happen to work at the place that _kidnapped me.”_

“Kidnapped?” Gerry repeats. It’s not a surprise, not exactly, but it’s still not what he expected. “Kidnapped” implied it was blatant. That this was somehow separate from the chain around the rest of the Archives staff. She had been Sectioned, hadn’t he? Had she known what the Institute was, before she signed her life away? Had she been angry that knowing hadn’t saved her?

“Elias forced me to sign a contract,” Basira says. She sounds more resigned than angry. Gerry can’t help the wave of pity that washes over him. How could she stay so calm about this? How had she convinced herself that this was okay? “Used that to get Daisy to work for him.”

“Is that why you want to go after her?” Gerry asks. “Because you think this is your fault?”

“I don’t _think_ anything,” Basira insists. And oh, _now_ she’s angry. “I _know._ I’ve always been a liability for her. I was a Sectioned officer for years, and in all that time, I did _nothing._ Nothing but listen to people practically _begging_ me to get involved. I could watch, I could listen, but the only useful thing I did was drive Daisy to the scene. So that she could find something to _kill._ Maybe that was all she was good for, but it was _something._ Something that saved lives. And now I have the chance to save her. Of course I’m going to take it.”

“And Melanie?” Gerry says.

“What about her?”

“Doesn’t she deserve to be saved, too?” Gerry asks. Basira scowls.

“She’s _fine,”_ she insists. “She wasn’t even hurt. And she’s an adult. She can make her own choices.”

Gerry laughs at that. Maybe Melanie had wanted this to be her choice, but Basira hadn't helped her make that decision. All _she_ had done was indulge a bad idea.

“You want to talk about choices?” Gerry says. “Here’s what Melanie can do, with that thing inside her: either she fights, and the venom starts running deeper, or she doesn’t, and it poisons her slower.”

“Daisy fought,” Basira argues. “That didn’t hurt her.”

“I’m not sure how much of her there was left _to_ hurt,” Gerry says. He sighs. “Look. Maybe you didn’t mean anything by it. I’m starting to get the sense you’re a little desensitized to all this, but—something coming easy to someone? Not a good sign. If you know something a bit too quickly, you check yourself for eyes. If fighting gets a bit too easy, you start listening for the Piper’s song, or checking yourself for the Hunt’s claws. You _never_ assume you got lucky. Luck doesn’t exist, not without spiders pulling the strings.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Basira says, but it sounds more like a wish than a dismissal.

“Of course I’m paranoid,” Gerry snorts. “I’ve lived with shit like this my whole life. I wouldn’t have survived if I wasn’t suspicious.”

Basira frowns. Guess she can’t think of a way to argue against that.

“Why are you here, anyways?” Basira snaps. “Didn’t expect you to actually come back to the Archives.”

“One of Gertrude’s tapes is about a ritual Peter tried,” Gerry says. “Thought it might help.”

Gerry considers telling her what’s on it. That Michael and Sarah had been saved because they stuck together, something Peter was very clearly hoping they wouldn’t do. Something _she_ was making it hard for them to do.

“The thing about anchors is that they have to be someone you’d come back for,” he says instead. “And having someone to come back to doesn’t really work when they’re who you’re looking for.”

“Did Gertrude have an anchor?” Basira asks. “She doesn’t really seem like the type.”

“She wasn’t,” Gerry says. “Mostly, she avoided getting put in situations where she’d need one. But she had Agnes, I guess.”

He frowns, just now realizing he’d never mentioned that the Web had been involved in that friendship—if it even _was_ a friendship. Gerry wasn’t too sure of all the details, honestly. Gertrude had never been one to reminisce. From the way the Lightless Flame told it, though, she had bound herself to Agnes. Ruined their ritual so spectacularly that the cult was still cursing Gertrude’s name.

A story for another time. Jon deserved to know just as much as Basira did. He's not sure how the Web had been involved in their bond, but if it wants a fire, Gerry doesn’t.

“Anyways, I’ve still got a tape to deliver, so…” Gerry says.

“Right.” Basira steps out of his way. “Thanks for answering everything.”

Gerry shrugs.

“That’s what I’m here for, I guess,” he says. 

Gerry starts walking towards Jon’s office, then pauses.

“No one’s come out of the Coffin yet,” he says. Basira tilts her head. Gerry turns back to face her again. “If you really think you can make history, well—good luck. Just be sure you can live with what it’ll turn you into.”

Basira nods.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” she says. “Sorry for keeping you.”

And then she leaves.

Gerry sighs. Instead of going to find Jon, he pulls up a chair. His knee’s been bothering him. Might as well take the excuse to sit and brood.

As annoyed as he is, though, he’s not actually _mad_ at Basira. This hadn’t been that much different than every other mess he’d cleaned up, honestly. All she was was another fool messing around with something she didn’t understand.

How many avatars had she met, that Basira was so sure Melanie couldn’t become one? Or no, wrong question. Did she even realize that _Daisy_ was one? He doubted that she saw Jon as anything but someone with a convenient set of skills. She had probably felt the same way about Melanie

But the thing was that one day, that would change. The line between human and not was a vague thing. It wasn’t only people like Jon, who had been given power mostly unwillingly. It wasn’t just Nikola, a doll feasting on the bones of her creator. Gerry had given himself to the Eye, too. He just hadn’t given it everything.

And one day, Basira would have to make a choice of her own. A human would not be able to escape the Coffin. A human wouldn’t be able to find someone inside it, either.

The Archives shelves were filled with knowledge. Maybe it didn’t contain everything, but there was enough to make a choice. Gerry just hoped whatever she learned didn’t convince her of something stupid. Or worse, something heartless. He can’t pretend the Archives haven’t changed, but changing tides never meant that history couldn’t repeat itself. Gertrude had wanted to save the world, too, after all. And her good intentions had gotten Michael killed. Sarah, too, probably. Gerry wonders if she had time to mourn him before she’d been fed to her own beast. Or maybe it had been the other way around, and Michael had come to work one morning only to find that the woman he had saved from the Lonely had still met a tragic end.

Tim’s arms are wrapped around him before Gerry can spend any more time dwelling on the past. Gerry hadn’t noticed him sneaking up on him, but it’s a welcome surprise.

“Showing up at work, are we?” Tim teases. “You miss me?”

“Always,” Gerry says. “Brought a tape. Figured you guys might want to hear about the shit Peter gets into.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks, leaning down so his chin rests on Gerry’s shoulder. “Like what?”

“He made a house. Well, a complex.”

“Ohhh, _spooky.”_

“I think he was more concerned with being depressing, actually,” Gerry says. “He was going to turn it into a ritual or something. Just had to make sure everyone living in it was as miserable as possible.”

“And how’d Gertrude fix _that?”_

“Pretty sure she just wrote into a paper about it,” Gerry says. “Helen came by to make fun of it, actually. The building, not the paper. Started talking shit about the foundation.”

Tim laughs.

“What about you?” Gerry asks. “Find anything fun yet?”

“Nothing big enough to matter,” Tim tells him. “Thinking about looking through the tunnels. I know Jon said he thinks he explored it all, and I’ve been down myself plenty of times, but—I don’t know. It feels important. Especially now that we’ve got some new information.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Gerry agrees. Personally, he thinks that spooky tunnels under spookier academic buildings were not to be trusted, and that explosives were pretty easy to miss in the dark. If all Tim found was Gertrude’s spare ammunition, that’d be a victory in its own right, but Gerry wouldn’t be surprised if there was something else down there. “How’s the rest of the Institute?”

“Well, Rosie’s fine,” Tim says.

 _“Obviously,”_ Gerry snorts. “Something as insignificant as a Lukas wouldn’t bother her. He take any more people?”

“Not sure yet,” Tim says. “Maybe? It’s hard to say. It's been kind of hard to talk, lately. I mean, I’m _trying,_ but it’s kind of hard to come back from ghosting everyone for months. Don’t know how well they’d take me going, ‘oh, sorry, I was a little manic, I just found out I was trapped here forever, that’s all.’ Did catch up on some old office gossip, though. I _just_ found out who started a fire in one of the microwaves on the first floor. And that happened almost a _year_ ago!”

“Sounds productive,” Gerry says. Tim laughs and stands back up, swatting Gerry fondly with his good arm as he moves into Gerry’s line of sight.

“I think being around Peter has really done a number on everyone, though,” Tim adds. “They all seem kind of… low energy or something. But I don’t think it’s really affecting me. Not yet, anyways.”

“I think he’s got something more elaborate planned for the Archives,” Gerry says. “It’s too easy for you to see through something like that. Easier to keep you all isolated when you’re all scattered around.”

“Like Basira,” Tim says.

“People make stupid decisions when they’re alone,” Gerry agrees. “Look out for her for me, will you?”

“I mean, yeah, sure,” Tim says. “But what do you think she's gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Gerry admits. “That's what worries me.”

“Basira’s a pretty sensible person,” Tim reassures him. He takes Gerry’s hand. “I don’t think she’ll do anything stupid.”

“Not even for Daisy?” Gerry asks. Tim hesitates.

“I don’t think she wants to be like you,” he says eventually. “But I think she doesn’t realize how hard it is to draw the line. I’ll talk to her.”

“You going to tell her about…?”

“I mean, I don’t _want_ to,” Tim says. “You know Daisy kills ‘monsters,’ yeah? I know Basira’s not as murdery as she is, but if I say anything about _maaaaybe_ not being completely human, I don’t think she’d trust me.”

“Didn’t stop her from asking for _my_ help,” Gerry says.

“I’m not sure she knows what to make of you, honestly,” Tim tells him.

“Most people don’t,” Gerry says. “But she’s trapped here, just like you. I don’t think you can get through this if you don’t trust each other.”

“Yeah, well, that goes for her, too,” Tim mutters. “I mean, if she told me she was planning on getting rid of the last remainders of the Circus, I would have gone with.”

_“Tim.”_

"I know,” Tim sighs. “You’re right. She freaked all of us out, driving back here with Breekon’s van. Think all of Artefact Storage is scared of her now. They wouldn’t even let her bring any of it inside. Not until someone looks through everything. Van’s still in the parking lot. But you’re right. Avoiding the problem won’t help anyone, except for Peter. I’ll talk to her.”

“And Melanie?” Gerry asks.

“Basira says she’ll have the nerve block by the end of the day,” Tim says. “Apparently, it’s not that hard to get. Who knew? Only thing left is to pick a time.”

“Whenever it is, I want to be there,” Gerry says. Tim nods.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Gerry. “We’ll fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, i think canonically, Peter probably had his ritual earlier than I'm implying in this canon, only because he mentions only working with Elias afterwards & this would suggest they've only known each other since the early 2000s. Then again, Peter & Elias only knowing each other for a decade makes them extremely funny.
> 
> up next: a book of plan


	5. Cathedrals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie heals and suggests what is dangerously close to a good idea. Also, Gerry makes fun of the Extinction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 130

Melanie’s been crying a lot, now that the bullet’s gone. She says it's not a problem, and punches Gerry’s arm when he brings it up. 

Of _course_ her emotions are out of whack. She’d felt nothing but anger for _months._ Melanie _deserved_ these tears. 

Gerry couldn’t really argue with that.

Anyways, she’s healing fine. And it had only been about a week.

Basira had finally gotten the nerve block she’d promised, so Martin had cut the bullet out of Melanie’s leg on Gerry’s kitchen floor, while Gerry had held her hand. Jon had been there, too, mostly as a precaution, and so had Tim, for moral support. Between the four of them, they had found the bullet just fine.

When Gerry had offered his hand, Melanie had made a joke about none of the statements he was in mentioned that the enigmatic Gerard Keay was so soft and Gerry had mumbled that actually, it had been Delano for a couple of months now, he just hadn’t found the right moment to mention it.

Melanie had asked if this was _really_ the right time, but then the nerve block kicked in and they were all suddenly too distracted to say any more so, yeah, actually, he thinks he’s got pretty great timing.

After Martin cut the bullet out, Melanie spent the rest of the afternoon at Gerry’s house recovering. He had offered to take Absynthe out of her cage, but Melanie had shaken her head and said she was more of a rat person. That was fine. Everyone had their flaws. She ended up agreeing about an hour later and had cried at Absynthe’s careful nature as she climbed onto Melanie’s arm. Then she spent the next hour crying at cat videos Tim had shown her on his phone.

Gerry likes Melanie without the Slaughter. She’s a good person. Funny, too. There’s more than just tears, and the lack of anger. There’s the terrible memes she sends, her joking about getting him on What The Ghost, and just… asking him to hang out. Because she thinks he’s cool.

Because they’re friends now.

Well, they’re close enough that he has his number, at least. Texted him a couple days after they took the bullet out about trying to reconnect with a friend, only wasn’t sure how to apologize for how she’d been acting. Gerry hadn’t known why she thought _he’d_ know anything about apologizing, but apparently, the friend already had some idea about entities and such, so Gerry had ended up coming by and filling in some of the gaps. Nice woman. Cute cat.

Melanie says she’s glad she decided not to blind herself. Or, she’s glad she waited, at least. It wouldn’t have helped, not really. All it would have done is remove her focus. Instead of being angry at the Institute, Melanie would have been directionless. Nothing more than blind fury, lashing out. She was always going to hurt someone. At least it had only been Breekon.

“It always felt like something at the Institute was holding me back,” Melanie admits. “And I still feel that, but—well, if it was holding me back from a murder rampage, I guess I’ve got to thank it for that.”

Gerry hums.

“You don’t need that now, though. And the month’s just about over,” he says. Melanie raises an eyebrow. “That’s all you promised them. You said you’d quit after.”

“Oh yeah.” Melanie lets out an awkward laugh. “No, I think—I think I’m going to stay. At least for now, anyways. Make Elias pay for my therapy bills. I’ll quit when I’ve got a new job lined up. Or when we burn this place. No need to rush.”

“Sounds like a pretty solid plan,” Gerry says.

“Guess it is,” Melanie says. “Haven’t really thought about what I actually want to do, after, but I’ve been looking up blind Youtubers and stuff just, you know, so I know what to expect. I kind of feel… I don’t know. It was weirdly reassuring to have everyone show up to cut up my leg. I mean, if Jon’s _that_ worried about me, he better let me use him as a reference, you know?”

Gerry laughs.

“That’s definitely how it works,” Gerry confirms. “I held your hand while you were bleeding and that means it belongs to you now.”

“I don’t think I need that yet,” Melanie tells him. “But I’ll take a coupon. Might be useful to have someone lead me around after I poke my eyes out.”

She’s got more questions now that her mind’s not clouded with blood, and Gerry loves it because what she asks is a lot more fun to answer than the things Basira wants to know. Melanie doesn’t want to care about Breekon and Hope, or the magic coffins. She never really even asked about the Slaughter, aside from wondering how long it’d take to really recover from the bite of war. Melanie only asks important questions, like if an avatar of the Dark could put out the fire of the Lightless Flame.

Basira, though, Gerry’s still not sure of. He thinks she might be avoiding him. She had come by Gerry’s soon after the surgery to ask about Melanie, and to take a tape, but Gerry hasn’t seen her since. He thinks she’s been mostly staying in the Archives, reading statements about the Buried and trying to find a common thread between how to survive it. 

Speaking of statements, though, they found another about one of the rituals. The Flesh, this time. It’s about some weird fucking pit they had been filling with flesh of all kinds, animal and human. The statement giver, Lucia Wright, had been somehow roped into following along, until Gertrude had exploded the church it had taken place behind and the whole ritual fell apart.

They go back to the tunnels to talk about it. Gerry brings coffee with him when he gets there, but only for Melanie, and Tim. He brings a smoothie for himself. Gerry doesn’t acknowledge Basira, but nods to both Jon and Martin as he gives Tim and Melanie their coffees. Melanie is obviously pleased to be given a gift while Jon gets nothing. When Jon asks why that is, Melanie informs him that it’s because she’s cooler than him.

“It’s because you don’t drink coffee,” Gerry says. “I didn’t want to buy tea.”

“I see,” Jon says dryly. 

He plays a bit of the supplemental for added context. Gertrude offers a counseling service—Gertrude knew therapists? Then why the hell was she like that?—then talks a bit about the potential fallout from an uncompleted ritual. She says she’s glad to know that “conventional means” can destroy them, and that she’ll have to be more “proactive” in the future. 

“I’ve been doing some digging into the People’s Church,” Jon says. “I found several of their bases, but they all seem relatively intact. Or at the very least, whatever befell them had nothing to do with explosives.”

“So not Gertrude’s MO, then,” Gerry says. “Or Adelard’s since he’s apparently the one who gave her the explosives.”

“It’s really starting to sound like she didn’t think the Church could make it,” Tim says. “I mean, the Unknowing gets C4, this gets a building blown up, the Archives, she tries to _burn_ , but them? I can’t even remember the last statement Jon read about them before the tape brought it up.”

“Case #0143103,” Jon says. “Though Basira gave me a statement on the Church a little while after.”

“You did?” Gerry asks. Basira takes a moment to answer. Tim keeps shining his torch at everyone who speaks, so it’s hard to tell if Basira’s started from that, or from Gerry actually addressing her. She probably didn’t think they were on speaking terms. They weren’t, really, but that wasn’t going to stop Gerry from asking a question.

“Wasn’t a big deal,” Basira shrugs. “They took a kid. I got him back. Joined the Institute a little while after.”

“The child was going to be the new host body for their leader,” Jon elaborates. “Basira helped save him.”

“I didn’t do that much,” Basira says.

“How many of them were there?” Gerry asks. “We can probably figure the state they’re in from what they were like with you. Chances are, they probably planned to nab their new host after the ritual, if they thought they still needed it.”

“There were only a couple of them,” Basira says slowly. “Don’t think there was even a dozen of them. That’s weird, right? You’d think they’d want as many people as possible protecting their base.”

“Which means that dozen you saw was probably all that was left,” Gerry says.

“So where’d everyone else go?” Melanie asks.

“If they’re dead, I assume that would mean _someone_ defeated them,” Jon says. “But Gertrude seems to think that an uncompleted ritual leaves its followers adrift. Hard to stay together when the goal you’ve worked so hard for is suddenly impossible.”

“So they all just left their church?” Melanie asks. “Where’d they go? I mean, I feel like there can’t be that many religions that welcome in people who tried to end the world.”

“I thought Christians were supposed to forgive everyone,” Tim says. “You know, because Jesus died or whatever.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he died for _that_ sin,” Melanie tells him.

“Jon and I were thinking something more like just looking into churches,” Martin says, interrupting them before Tim can make another joke. “If there’s anyone still around, that’s where they’d be hanging out. There’s one in Hither Green. We know there were some noise complaints there the night Gertrude died. Plus, a statement mentioned that some people there were talking about Ny-Alesund, in Norway. Whole town’s supposedly owned by a company with ties to the Dark. So that gives us at least two Church locations. I’m going to look into Hither Green this week, then Jon and I’ll fly to the second.”

“Wait, what?” Tim says. “Why’s _Jon_ going? He’s got a broken leg!”

“I could go,” Melanie offers. “I bet it’ll be fun. I’ll bring Georgie!”

“Do _not,”_ Jon warns. Melanie cackles.

“Peter suggested it,” Martin says. “Which, normally, I wouldn’t even think of listening to, but he says that the rest of us wouldn’t be able to see through an attack. I hate it when he makes sense.”

“So, what happens when they _do_ attack?” Tim asks. “You going to pick Jon up and just… run away?”

Martin doesn’t answer.

 _“Martin,”_ Jon and Tim both say, with very different levels of aggravation.

“Well, if Jon’s the _only one—”_ Martin says helplessly.

“I can go,” Gerry says.

_“Really?”_

“No need to sound so surprised,” Gerry says. “Honestly, there shouldn’t be _that_ big a difference between what the two of us can see. Being the Archivist doesn’t automatically make you all-powerful. And it’s only been about three years since their ritual. I don’t think they have enough power to do much. Any of you just being there would probably do more harm to the Dark than the other way around.”

“Then why would Peter even ask Jon to go?” Tim asks. “I mean, they need him in the Archives, don’t they? Why risk making him go?”

“Unless they want him to get hurt for some reason,” Basira says. “Elias was the one to kill Gertrude. Which means he knows where she was while the Church was doing its ritual.”

“Which means he knows it didn’t work,” Martin finishes. “Does that mean the Unknowing would’ve failed, too? I know Elias said that they were our opposites and whatever, but that _can’t_ be enough of a reason to make everyone risk their lives!”

“Jon’s life,” Tim corrects. “Elias said Jon had to be there. Daisy, too, for the explosives. The rest of us just tagged along.”

“So, what?” Melanie asks. “He wants Jon to get hurt? Why?”

“When Elias killed Leitner, Jon went on the run,” Tim says. “You came back with a burn. And that cut on your neck…”

“A consequence of asking questions,” Jon says, touching his scarred hand. “Georgie’s statement didn’t harm me, but the others I took did. The burn was from Jude Perry, an avatar of the Desolation. Mike Crew—an avatar of the Vast—he let me take his statement, but trapped me in freefall the entire time. And then there was…”

He touches a scar on his neck and trails off. Basira looks away.

“Kind of sounds like wherever Elias sends you, you come back worse for it,” Tim says. “And remember Prentiss? We _begged_ Elias to do something about the worms before the siege, but all we got was the fire system.”

“He said he thought we were exaggerating, because the rest of the Institute didn’t have as much trouble,” Martin snorts. “I can’t believe we have an all-knowing boss and he _still_ tried to claim he couldn’t have seen what was about to happen.”

“You think it has something to do with the Watcher’s Crown?” Basira asks.

“I think Elias has been putting Jon in a _lot_ of danger for someone he supposedly needs to end the world,” Tim tells her. “So maybe let's try and avoid sending Jon off to who-knows-where till we figure out what that’s about. Or, you know, getting injured at all.”

“Great,” Melanie mutters. “Jon stubs his toe, and it might end the world. Anything else we need to worry about?”

Tim hesitates. Melanie groans, but Gerry doesn’t think he hears her.

“There’s something hidden in the tunnels,” Tim says. “I’ve been real careful while exploring, but it always feels like I’m getting moved around. Hard to find the blueprints of such an old place, but I _know_ there’s supposed to be some kind of center. I just… can’t find it.”

“Do you think it’s the… NotSasha thing?” Martin asks. “That’s stuck down here, too, right?”

“The _what?”_ Melanie asks.

“It’s trapped,” Jon says. “And very much not in the center.”

“Oh, so that’s two things to worry about, then?” Melanie says.

“Not really,” Tim says. “Walls down here are pretty strong. We’re only going to have to worry about her once we start placing explosives. But the thing in the tunnels… It feels like every time I get close, I just stop being able to think about it. Like the knowledge of where I am just slides off me. And then suddenly, I’m nowhere close to where I was headed.”

“Sounds like it could be something with the Dark,” Gerry says. “Maybe Eye, too.”

“These are Smirke’s tunnels,” Tim reminds him. “It’s probably both.”

“What do you think is down there, Tim?” Jon asks.

“Dunno,” Tim shrugs. “Just feels like a pretty good convenient place to hide a weak spot.”

“If something of Elias’ is down here, then why can’t he see into the tunnels?” Martin asks.

“How should I know?” Tim responds. “Maybe no one can see through the tunnels. Maybe they’re unknowable. Maybe that’s the point. I just—I can’t shake the feeling that maybe it’s important.”

“Guess I could come take a look,” Gerry says. “If it is the Eye stopping you from getting in, though, that’s even more of a reason to go find the People’s Church. They might have something that’ll counteract it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Martin says. “I haven’t got everything figured out yet, but you’ve got Jon’s number, right? He can text you the details.”

“You can have my number too,” Gerry says. He holds out his hand. Martin hesitantly gives him his phone.

“It sounds as though we’re almost finished with the Dark,” Jon says. “Hopefully, we can put this behind us soon and start focusing more on the Web’s plans for us. And the Watcher’s Crown.”

“And then there’s the Extinction,” Martin adds. Gerry hands him back his phone. “If Peter’s even right about that being an issue.”

“I don’t think he is,” Gerry says. “I mean, in the end, it’s all just fear. Yeah, there’s a pretty big difference between, say, the Corruption and the Desolation, but the Fourteen were always just labels _we_ gave them. If it doesn’t fit, all that means is an old man got a few things wrong two hundred years ago. Shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“So if the Extinction exists, it’s because it always did?” Martin asks. “Then why haven’t we gotten any statements about it?”

“Maybe the people who saw it just didn’t think it was a big deal,” Gerry says with a shrug. “All fears ebb and flow, anyway, though part of that’s on us. Humans, I mean. Most of the fears got stronger after the Industrial Revolution. And if the Extinction’s new to this century, that means that the rest of them have been building up for a few hundred years longer. You’re really going to tell me that it has enough power to end the world? How many statements are you _really_ getting about it, anyway?”

“Mostly just a few Dekker sent over,” Martin admits.

“The Archives are incredibly disorganized,” Jon puts in. He sighs. “It’s certainly possible we missed something. I know the only statement I’ve gotten that dealt with anything close to that kind of fear is a live statement, but that’s not necessarily an indictment of our entire system.”

“Which statement is that?” Basira asks.

“Tessa Winters. She had a statement about a programming urban legend. Most likely, she wouldn’t have even gone to the Institute without my influence,” Jon says. The flash of guilt those words give him is quickly replaced by a look of embarrassment. “She, ah, well—I used her to get into Gertrude’s laptop.”

“Sounds like you don’t really know too much about it, then,” Gerry says. “So, which is it? The Extinction’s coming, and it’s so relevant that Elias doesn’t want you to know about it, or you’ve got so little statements about it that there’s probably only a few dozen people out there who’ve experienced something like it.”

“So it won’t end the world,” Jon says.

“I didn’t say _that,”_ Gerry says. “I just mean, if it does, it’s not because the fear is new. If ‘The World Without Us’ is our biggest threat, it didn’t suddenly come to be because of pollution. Before people were afraid of ending the world themselves, they were afraid of Ragnarok. There’s cultures out there that believe that the world’s already ended a few times, and that it’ll happen again. And if you’re worried about being _replaced,_ that sounds more Stranger than anything else.”

“Okay, sure,” Martin says. “But that doesn’t explain why Peter’s so worried about it. Or why Adelard was.”

“That, I’ve got no idea,” Gerry admits. “But are you sure Peter’s really worried? Because, yeah, he’s asking for your help with this, but it doesn’t sound like he’s telling you much. Kind of sounds to me like he just wants to scare you.”

“You think Peter knows what we’re planning?” Tim asks. “Maybe he’s hoping that Martin’ll convince us all to spare him because he knows so much about this mysterious new entity that no one’s ever heard of, but is _totally_ coming to destroy us all, guys!”

“You’re making him sound like some kind of doomsday prepper,” Martin laughs.

 _“Well,”_ Tim says. Martin laughs harder.

“Maybe that’s it,” Melanie says. She’s laughing now, too. “Maybe he’s just a coward. He definitely hides like one.”

“I’ll try and find you another Extinction statement,” Jon offers. “Something without Peter’s influence. It’s likely the only way we’ll get any answers.”

“Yeah, probably,” Martin agrees. “Nothing we can do about it now. Not when we can’t trust the information we’re getting.”

“So that’s settled,” Jon says. “Is there anything else we should talk about?”

“Honestly, what I want to know is why this Lucia girl went to the Institute because she was having _nightmares,”_ Melanie says.

“Mmm,” Basira agrees. “Probably made them worse. That’s what happened to me.”

“Talking to me gave you nightmares?” Jon asks. He sounds worried.

“Only for a couple months,” Basira says with a shrug. “Haven’t thought much about it in a while, actually. They stopped after I joined the Institute.”

“Hey, yeah, same here!” Melanie says.

There’s a long pause.

“Jon,” Basira says slowly. “Were you haunting our dreams?”

“Not on purpose!” Jon insists. “I didn’t—I never _meant_ to! I’m in no more control of my dreams than you are of yours!”

“But it was you, right?” Melanie asks. “Holy shit.”

“If I knew they were real, I never would have taken your statement,” Jon says. He’s practically begging them to forgive him, though neither actually look too mad. “I thought they were just dreams at first. A sign I wasn’t adapting as well to life as an Archivist, but…”

“That’s pretty fucking weird, Jon,” Tim says. There’s an edge to his voice Jon clearly hadn’t been expecting, a sentiment made even stronger by the fact that Tim’s now shining his torch directly at him. “So, why haven’t you haunted _my_ dreams, huh? I’m starting to feel a little left out.”

“Working at the Institute probably protects you,” Gerry says, even though he knows Tim’s already guessed that. Gerry takes Tim’s hand.“You’re his Assistants. Can’t very well turn you into a meal as well.”

“I don’t want to be doing this,” Jon insists. He’s looking right at Gerry, like somehow, even though these are all _Jon’s_ friends, he thinks Gerry is the only one who will understand. He’s not wrong, though. Gerry does get it. “I try to help them, I always do, but I’m just as trapped as they are. I wish I could save them, but I can’t even look away.”

“Jon, it’s okay,” Martin says. He puts an arm around Jon’s shoulder. “We know you didn’t choose this. It’s not your fault.”

Next to Gerry, Tim tries his best not to flinch.

“I don’t think any of us could have predicted your spooky dream walking archivist powers,” Tim admits, voice suddenly much more steady. He lowers his torch and turns to Basira and Melanie. “Bit surprised it took you this long to bring it up, though.”

“Talking about it wouldn’t have helped,” Basira says with a shrug. “And we had other problems.”

“Well, _yeah,_ but…” Tim says.

“Wait, you _just_ said Georgie gave you a statement,” Melanie says. “Why didn’t _she_ mention it?”

“That,” Jon says slowly. “Is a _very_ good question.”

“We’re getting off-topic,” Basira says. “We still have things to go over. Like the Coffin.”

“I am feeling a bit responsible for her,” Jon admits. “If the Unknowing would have failed anyways, then there was no point in us doing… _any_ of it.”

“I dunno,” Tim says. “Personally, I’m feeling pretty good about killing Nikola.”

“We’re not going to go in there for _her,”_ Martin says. “No offense, but even if we _did_ try and save her, how do we know she’s not going to just attack us or something? The only reason she hasn’t tried to kill us is because Elias trapped _you_ here. But now we know a way out, so…” 

“Daisy wouldn’t do that,” Basira says. Tim laughs.

“Look, we all know you’ve got it bad for a serial killer,” he says. “No use denying it. But she helped us take down the Circus, and I don’t like the thought of a good deed going punished like that. We’ll figure something out.”

“We’ll save her after we look until the People’s Church,” Jon agrees. “I want us all to be free of this place. Including her.”

“I hate that we still have to worry about Elias on top of all this,” Melanie groans. “What the hell is he planning that’s so bloody terrifying? We should just push _him_ into the Coffin and be done with it.”

“Melanie,” Tim says. “You’re a fucking genius.”

“We can’t just…” Jon begins. He falters, clearly still searching for reasons why they couldn’t. “He’s in jail! What are we supposed to do? Break in?”

“Why not?” Tim asks. “Can’t be that hard.”

“I could probably get you in,” Basira offers. “The Coffin, though, that’s another story.”

“We’ll just have to sneak it in on a food cart,” Tim grins. “If it works in the movies, it’ll work for us.”

“You have a very low opinion of the London police,” Melanie tells him. Tim snorts.

“Jon used to send me to the station every other day to find police reports of statements,” he says. “I know what they’re like, and _none_ of them care about their jobs.”

“I cared about my job,” Basira says, though she doesn’t seem upset.

“Yeah,” Tim says. “But you got better.”

“There’ll be security cameras,” Basira says instead of responding to Tim. “And they’re not going to like it if we walk out and they’re down a prisoner. Especially the head of the Magnus Institute. He’s too weird. They’ll put us away just to avoid thinking about it.”

“So we need some way to get him out without anyone seeing us,” Martin says. “That can’t be _that_ hard.”

“Are we really doing this?” Jon demands. “Planning a prison break, right here?”

“Well, we did plan on _getting_ someone in prison while we were down here,” Melanie says. “Might as well plan a prison break in the same place. Your eye powers tell you anything useful?”

Jon sighs.

“When he was in the tunnels, Leitner had a book that helped him avoid detection,” he admits. “I wouldn’t recommend using it, but it is an option. If we can find it. Do you really think this is the best use of our time? We haven’t made much progress with the Web’s plan, or the Watcher’s Crown—”

“—But Elias won’t be able to start anything from the Coffin,” Tim interrupts.

“Unless he has someone start it _for_ him,” Martin counters. “I mean, he might still be stuck in the Coffin, but what’s he got to lose?”

“He needs Jon for the ritual,” Tim insists. “If he can’t get to Jon, that means no ritual. Also, he can’t get to Jon. Or us. Still sounds like a pretty big win.”

“Tim and I can figure it out,” Melanie offers. “If I sent Elias to jail, I can get him out, too.”

Tim offers Melanie a hand. She slaps it and grins.

“Team Trip Elias Into A Big Spooky Hole is ready for action,” Tim declares. 

Gerry laughs. Tim grins at him.

“I’m not going to stop you,” Jon tells them. “It’s probably best that Elias is gone. At the very least, it prevents him from some future manipulation. I just…”

Jon rubs his temples.

“We still have so much we don’t know,” he sighs. “We really don’t need to add more to our workload.”

“All of the more reason to get this out of the way,” Melanie says. “It’s simple. All we do is get Elias out, and push him in. And once that’s done, we can focus on all the complicated stuff. It’ll definitely go a lot faster, too, without us having to worry about his creepy ass spying on us.”

“We have to throw him in,” Tim agrees. “For our mental health.”

“Yeah!” Melanie agrees, nodding emphatically. “Jon, you have to let me take a mental health day to push Elias into dirt.”

“Well,” Jon says, lips tugging into a smile. “If I must.”

“That about covers it then, yeah?” Tim asks. “If the Church’s ritual failed, so could all the others, which means Elias pushed us toward the Unknowing for some other reason, and _that_ means we’re buying Jon some bubble wrap to cover him in and then offing Elias.”

Jon makes a noise of annoyance. Tim grins at him.

“We’ve got some letters to Magnus in the Archives, right?” Tim adds. “Might be something about the original Millbank Prison and the tunnels.”

“I was planning on looking through statements regarding the Dark, but I’ll go through those as well,” Jon says. “Hopefully, they’ll have something about the Watcher’s Crown as well.”

“I can help you look into it,” Basira says. “Not right now, though. I’ve got a lead about the Web.”

“Of course,’ Jon says. “And that leaves Melanie looking into ways to break the law, apparently, and Martin…”

“I’ll keep talking to Peter,” Martin sighs. “At least until my trip. Still have no idea why Elias asked _him_ to serve as head of the Institute, but he’s got to let something slip eventually, right?”

“Right,” Jon agrees. He turns to Tim. “You were looking into past Institute heads, correct? Did you find anything of note?”

Tim hesitates.

“No,” he says, and Gerry has to respect the confidence it takes to lie to an _Archivist._ “I… I think there’s something else I can check, though. Probably nothing. I’d rather work on kicking Elias into the Buried.”

Jon frowns, but doesn’t argue.

“Alright,” he says. “If that’s it, then I suppose we should head out. Thank you, Gerry, for your help.”

“Course,” Gerry says. He grabs Tim’s arm as the rest of the Archives crew head back up the trapdoor. As soon as everyone’s out of earshot, Tim deflates.

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim says.

“I’m not going to judge you,” Gerry says. Tim hesitates. 

“I’ve always been good at getting information out of people,” he says slowly. “Me and Sasha both, actually. Used to be, if Jon needed something, he’d ask one of us. If he needed someone to get into a system, he’d ask Sasha. She was good with computers. Knew how they worked. But I understood people. I can’t even count how many times I’ve gotten someone to give me something that they swear is off-limits to the public.”

Tim sits back down, inching his chair closer to Gerry. They’re close enough now that Gerry could lean over and rest his chin on Tim’s shoulder, but he doesn’t. Tim taps his fingers on his arm and gives Gerry a tense smile.

“Guess I’m just realizing how easily that turns supernatural,” Tim says. “Kind of makes me wonder when it really started, you know? Just how long have I been worshipping this place without knowing it? I’ve always been good at getting people to open up. I used to think I just had an honest face, you know? People trusted me. They wanted me to know things. Especially if I brought a snack along with me. But, well, you can’t really use that as an excuse to why someone’s given you a _police report._ Not when you’re getting top secret information every week.”

Gerry’s not sure how to respond to that. He can’t promise Tim that his knowing is a new development, not when Gerry doesn’t even know where it started for himself _._ But he knows there’s a difference between charms and compulsion. Gerry could be charming, but he couldn’t compel. That’s always been a power more tied to Elias and his Institute, anyway.

… Which means Tim might be able to, if he tried. But that doesn’t mean this started for him at the Institute. And if it had, well, Tim had told him where he’d been before that. Sometimes, meeting one fear pushed you towards another. And after the Circus… Gerry can’t blame Tim for wanting answers after so many visits with the unknown.

“I can promise you you’re still human,” Gerry says. “Whatever you found out, you probably just found it because you’re smart. It’s not your fault the Eye loves guys like that.”

“Wish it had different taste in men,” Tim mumbles. He hesitates. “It’s just—I’ve been thinking about it lately, I guess. I found an old uni friend of Elias. Started asking him a bunch of questions. Told him I just wanted some dirt on my boss. But he didn’t want to talk to me. And that’d be fine! Normally, I’m pretty good at getting people to open up, even when they say stuff like that, but—but I couldn’t do it. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have, anyway. Called him on the phone. It was pretty much impossible to understand him, but it’s just… how do I know the thing that got everyone to open up is _me,_ and not—not…”

“Not the Eye?” Gerry asks. Tim nods. “It always looked really intentional when Gertrude did it. I’ve never—the kind of compelling the Archivist gets is sort of a researcher’s only power. Not my field. But Jon—”

“Jon never knows what he’s doing,” Tim says. It’s not meant as an insult, just another reason for his desperation. “It’s terrible, watching him in action. I mean, before, none of us knew, and I guess I can’t really blame him for that, but… He’s been stuttering a lot, lately. He worries about asking any questions, so he doesn’t say anything. I don’t—I don’t ask a lot of questions. So there’s that, at least. But I don’t want to have to second guess everything I say.”

“I think what you’re worried about might be more Web than Eye,” Gerry tells him. “But doesn’t help, does it?”

Tim shakes his head.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” Gerry says. “If this is too much—I know you said you’d help them, but this doesn’t have to be your problem.”

“I think it does, though,” Tim says. “I want Elias gone. I’m starting to think we could really make that happen. And honestly, I’m not sure what happens after that.”

“You’re not thinking of going back to publishing?” Gerry asks. Tim laughs.

“Probably wouldn’t take me back,” he admits. Tim looks down. “Didn’t really leave on the best of terms. Part of me feels like if I do, it’s just… going back. Like I’ll be pretending none of this ever happened.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Gerry says. “The more you look into things like this, the more likely it is you get lost. Sometimes forgetting’s the safest option.”

“Is that what you’d want?” Tim asks. He tilts his head back up to face Gerry.

“No,” Gerry admits. “No matter how much I forget, I don’t think I’d ever be able to leave this all behind me. But it doesn’t have to be as complicated for you. You should talk to your publishing friends. Send them a text or something. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.”

Tim laughs.

“It’s been hard enough talking to people _here,”_ he says. “I mean, I’ve been trying. I promised I would. And some of them—they’re _fine._ They don’t get it, but they won’t ask questions. The rest, though… apparently, after you spend a few months trying to avoid everyone, they’ll start avoiding you all on their own!”

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says. Tim shrugs.

“Publishing’ll be worse,” he says. “At least here, I won’t get any questions about my scars. If I go back, I’ll just be—I don’t know. I’ll be the one Latino in the room again. The one they put in charge of every single ‘diverse’ manuscript. I’ll be the guy who quit over a stupid breakdown he never explained.”

“You don’t have to go back to the same place,” Gerry says. Tim shakes his head.

“They’ll know,” he says. “You can’t hide in publishing. The whole point of being an agent is knowing people. Wouldn’t be too great at their jobs if they forgot about me.”

Gerry bites his lip. He can’t argue with that. Tim would definitely know better than Gerry, after all. Gerry didn’t know the first thing about jobs or workplace politics. If Tim says publishing would make him suffer, Gerry trusts that to be the truth.

“Just means your friends’ll remember you, too,” Gerry tries. Tim gives him a look of surprise. “You’re right. You’re the publisher here, not me. But getting the chance to actually talk to Portia again was _incredible._ Not even one mention of entities—well, _maybe_ one. But it was refreshing. And if she’s willing to talk to me after spending so long apart, you’ve got to have someone willing to do the same. I mean, look at you! You’re _much_ more loveable.”

“I think you’re plenty loveable,” Tim tells him.

“I’m a menace,” Gerry insists. 

“I’m sure you are,” Tim says, with a terrible, shitty tone that means he’s two steps away from calling Gerry a teddy bear.

Gerry shoves him. Tim laughs

“I guess there’s probably one or two people I could still talk to,” he admits. “You’re right, anyways. I’m spending far too much time at work actually working when I could be scrolling through Twitter. Guess I just want to put this whole thing behind me, even if I’m not really sure what’ll happen next. Aside from moving in with you, of course.”

He says it so casually that Gerry has to take a moment to steady himself. He clutches the fabric of Tim’s shirt.

“If that’s what you want, of course,” Tim adds quickly. “I don’t want you to feel _rushed,_ or—”

“No,” Gerry says. “It sounds really nice. I’d like that.”

“Oh,” Tim smiles at him. “Cool.”

“And I’m sure it’d help to have someone around if you’ve really got to—you know,” Gerry says, miming stabbing himself in the eye. Tim snorts and nudges him gently.

“If I do talk to end up talking to my old publishing buddies, maybe I can give them your portfolio or something,” he offers. “Who knows, maybe after all this, you’ll want to go on to draw the covers for some steamy romance novels.”

“Don’t do that to me,” Gerry says. 

“No steamy romance, gotcha,” Tim jokes.

“Well, _we_ can have a steamy romance, but I’m not too interested in someone else’s,” Gerry tells him. Tim laughs. “I mean it, though. I couldn’t—I mean, I’m not against doing commissions or anything, but it’s just… They’re _books.”_

“I thought you might like a chance to be responsible for something normal,” Tim says. “But not that?”

“I don’t know how normal anything can be around me,” Gerry snorts. Then, quieter, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

Tim doesn’t answer. Did he not hear him? That was fine, honestly. Gerry doesn’t want to repeat himself.

The problem is, Gerry spent his whole life learning about all the different ways someone could get noticed by the horrors of the world. Something’s always going to bleed through, whether he wants it to or not. It didn’t matter what it started out as. If it was with him, it’ll be a cursed book.

“It’s stupid, I know,” Gerry says. He looks down.

“It’s not stupid,” Tim tells him. He tilts Gerry’s head to face him and brushes away a lock of hair. “I won’t show anyone your art if you don’t want me to.”

Gerry chews on his lip.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. He’s not completely against the idea. The more he thinks about it, the more Gerry can see why Tim would suggest it. It just sounds so _normal._ Gerry doesn’t know what to do with something like that. “You want me to come along next time you talk to someone? If you’re doing anything unusual, I should be able to see it.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. He smiles, clearly relieved. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: gerry and martin's dark guide to norway!


	6. Statement of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry and Martin's airport bonding gets distracted by the fact that, oh yeah! they're here to investigate a cult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 143  
> supplemental reading: MAG 140

They’re on a plane about two weeks later. Before that, Gerry goes with Tim to talk to one of Elias’ guards when he’s off duty. Tim greets the man like an old friend and the guard asks if he’s “the cronut guy,” which Gerry desperately wishes he had the context for. Tim just laughs and says that apparently, normal bosses without criminal tendencies didn’t take too kindly to him writing up cronuts as a company expense, so unfortunately, he was coming empty-handed today. Well, unless you counted eye candy as a bribe. The guard tells Tim that eye candy doesn’t pay bills.

“Well, not with _that_ attitude,” Tim says. “I’m not here for anything suspicious, though. I just wanted to ask about my boss—well, _former_ boss. Not every day it turns out you’re working for a murderer, you know? It’s scary!”

“Didn’t think someone who worked for the Magnus Institute would be afraid of something so simple,” the guard says.

“Oh, I’m _terrified,”_ Tim says cheerfully. “I mean, a ghost? _Everyone_ in the Institute knows the only thing you need to fight that off is a bit of salt and some prayer. But I don’t think that’s going to work if I see Elias coming at me with a pipe.”

“You could throw the salt in his eyes,” Gerry offers. The guard snorts.

“Alright,” he says. “What’re you here for, Stoker?”

Tim’s eyes light up.

He asks the guard about how Elias has been spending his time. Gerry can see from the way Tim’s asking that what he’s really trying to figure out is how closely Elias has been watching the Archives, and how closely Elias himself is being watched, but the man they’re talking to doesn’t seem to notice. The guy acts like he’s humoring Tim. As if there couldn’t possibly be any harm in talking to this with Tim, of all people, though he does give Gerry a few suspicious glances. Figures.

It doesn’t seem supernatural, though. Even if the guard seems a bit too enthusiastic in talking about all the “weird shit” Elias had gotten up to. Gerry thinks he’s just not paid enough to care about the consequences. And where was the harm? It was only a bit of gossip. And it was only Tim. He really does just have one of those faces. Easy to trust, which had actually been why Gerry didn’t when they first met.

Gerry doesn’t pay as much attention as he should. He’s too busy watching the obvious difficulty Tim has to keep the conversation going. A few of Tim’s jokes land flat because he misinterprets what the guard’s saying. It’s not enough that most people would notice, but Gerry’s already been watching Tim. He can see that Tim’s trying to put on a show, but can’t quite hit the notes he used to.

He knows what it is. Tim hasn’t named it, but there’s only so many things it could be, and it’s not the concussion. Gerry thinks that’s pretty much healed, thankfully. Tim hasn’t really been complaining about bright lights or loud voices, or anything like that. Then again, Tim hasn’t really been complaining at all. When Gerry checks in, Tim just shrugs and says he’s been tired lately, but insists it’s not serious. Gerry knows better than to argue. If he does, Tim will feel the need to prove himself. He’ll stop tilting Gerry’s head to watch his mouth as he speaks, or asking him to repeat himself. The problem is obvious, but Gerry knows that the way Tim moves him is different from how he talks to everyone else. And Gerry would rather stay quiet and speak clearly than rob Tim of something he needed by pushing too hard.

It’s not like there’s really any need to rush, anyways. The most important part of it is always going to be Tim’s comfort, and Gerry trusts that Tim will keep showing him what he needs.

It does make it a bit hard to explore the tunnels, though.

The good thing is that Tim _really_ knows his way around the place. Gerry hadn’t realized it before, because all Gerry had known was a few of the entrances to the Archives, but apparently, Tim had been the one to actually discover the tunnels. Or, rediscover it, anyways. He didn’t think much about it at the time because they were running from Jane Prentiss and her worms, and because he had basically stumbled into it, but Tim had thought he heard something calling out for him. He doesn’t really remember the details, though. There was a lot of CO2 in his lungs. He kind of assumed he was hallucinating a little, and that everything would make more sense when he recovered from all of that. It didn’t.

The tunnels were also where he had first met Michael. And saw NotSasha’s true form. Gerry’s kind of surprised he’d want to go back, after all that, but when he asks, Tim just shrugs and says he understood the danger of the tunnels. The rest of the world, though, was a bit more complicated. Gerry could understand that.

The deeper they go, the more Gerry feels something closing in on them. If Tim hadn’t been there, Gerry doesn’t think he’d have gone past the first floor. But Tim wanted to go, so that’s what they do.

There was definitely _something_ down there. Gerry can feel it. Gerry thinks Tim felt it, too. But neither of them could _see_ it, and that was the problem.

It had to be some kind of ward. Something extra, added later. This wasn’t Smirke’s usual style. Tim was glad to hear Gerry had noticed that, too. Tim said that there was an obvious imbalance in the obscurity of it all. Smirke’s buildings, as terrible as they were, were meant for the public. There was a reason so many different groups could use them. The halls were meant to be filled with worshippers.

This, though, was meant to be a secret. Gerry couldn’t even pinpoint exactly _where_ the darkness was, only that it was there, and that they’d need a guide to get through it.

“Better bring someone back from Norway, then,” Tim jokes. “Make it my souvenir.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gerry replies.

And then they go.

The flight to Norway is at a shitty time, but that’s fine with Gerry. He cares less about the when and more about his own safety. The problem with air travel, or even going somewhere by boat, was that if something came after you, there really wasn’t anywhere to go. If there’s something in the ocean with you, you can’t really stop being in the ocean to get away. Not with Gerry’s terrible swimming, at least.

Maybe that meant a plane really was the best option. Gerry doesn’t think his poor balance would be enough to walk anywhere on a rocking boat, either.

He’ll be fine. The Archives haven’t done anything to upset the Fairchilds, and they’re still friends with the Lukases. No reason to get involved in Institute business. Not when the flight’s only about five hours.

Speaking of Lukases, though, Martin says that Peter doesn’t seem to like that Gerry’s coming with him instead of Jon. He hasn’t actually _said_ anything—because he’s a Lukas, and the only confrontation they can do is just passive-aggressive sighing—but he was definitely trying to get them to change their minds. Not that Martin seems to care.

“He’s like every terrible boss I’ve had before the Institute,” Martin tells Gerry as they wait for their flight. “I mean, he’s just the kind of guy who talks your ear off because he knows he’s paying you, and you can’t escape. It’s exhausting, and it makes me want to _scream,_ but it’s not _scary.”_

“He’s not a very intimidating man,” Gerry agrees. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his ways, though.”

“I know,” Martin sighs. “I’m definitely glad to be out of the Archives. It feels—I don’t know. It’s like it’s easier to breathe, now that I know he won’t try and come find me.”

Gerry nods.

“Think you were right about the Extinction, too,” Martin adds. “It’s really starting to feel kind of like wasting time. Makes me feel kind of bad for Adelard. He deserves better than Peter using his life’s work as, well…”

“As a horror story?” Gerry finishes.

“That’s one word for it,” Martin says. He makes a face. “Adelard thought this was _serious._ Peter shouldn’t be using it like it’s some novelty he’s discovered or something. I don’t know. It feels disrespectful.”

“I get it,” Gerry nods. “Adelard and I didn’t really cross paths too often, but I don’t think he’d want Lukas to use all his hard work as a way to keep you trapped.”

“He really doesn’t care, does he?” Martin says. “Peter, I mean. I can’t imagine being like that. It’s not even _cruel._ It’s just—he’s not thinking about anyone but himself. I don’t think he’s ever had to.”

“I know what you mean,” Gerry agrees. “Oh, wait—hold on.”

“Gerry?” Martin asks as Gerry stands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gerry says. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Gerry walks over to a woman sitting across from them.

“You won’t have enough light, where you’re going,” he tells her. “Make sure your torch doesn’t run out.”

“Um,” the woman says. She doesn’t look like she has more to say, though, so Gerry just dumps some batteries in her lap and walks back to Martin.

“Gerry,” Martin says. He sounds tired. Makes sense. It’s still pretty early. “What did you say to her?”

“Gave her some advice,” Gerry says. “Why?”

“She’s staring at us.”

“Yeah, not a surprise.”

“She’s on our flight, Gerry,” Martin says, a bit desperately. “I don’t want some stranger staring at me for _five hours.”_

“Oh,” Gerry says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I mean, everyone always stares at me, so I didn’t really—”

“It’s fine,” Martin says. “I mean, never had someone look at me like _this_ before, so that’s something, I guess. Never thought I’d be the wise sage in anyone’s weird adventure.”

“We could move?” Gerry offers. Martin considers it, then laughs. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about how that’d look from _her_ perspective,” he says. “Like we just came here to give her some vague prophecy, and now that that’s done, we’ll just—I don’t know, disappear into the airport crowds?”

 _“What_ crowd?” Gerry laughs. “It’s five in the morning.”

“I’m sure you could find a way,” Martin snorts. He hesitates for a moment. “Do you just—always do stuff like this? Go up to a stranger and make whatever they’re dealing with your problem?”

“I just gave her a tip,” Gerry tells him. “Doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll follow through.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin begins. He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Guess it’s just weird to think that best-case scenario, she might come back and give a statement about it.” 

Gerry shrugs and starts rubbing the eye on his wrist with his thumb. 

“Generally speaking, a ‘best case scenario’ with something like this just means feeding something a little less,” he says. “Or feeding something that’ll hurt you less.”

“Is that why you have all those tattoos?” Martin asks. “I mean, you got them to deal with the Lightless Flame, right?”

Gerry pauses.

“Sorry,” Martin says. “You probably don’t want to think about that.”

“It’s not like I can really forget it,” Gerry says. “It left a lot of scars.”

Second-degree burns normally didn’t leave so many reminders, but injuries from the Desolation were always in a category of their own. And of course, Gerry had always had sensitive skin. And even without all that, Gerry knows he would have never let himself heal while living with his mother.

He hadn’t taken any of the painkillers they had given him when she brought him home. Hadn’t even let himself sleep. He was just… too scared of being vulnerable.

He worries, sometimes, that Tim will notice that the worst scars are all in places he could dig into with his fingernails. Then again, maybe he already has. Tim’s always so gentle with Gerry. He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted that. When Tim runs his hands down Gerry’s skin, it doesn’t feel fragile, or worried. It feels like love. Like he was meant to be loved.

“It’s not as big a deal as it used to be, though,” Gerry adds.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Martin says. “I shouldn’t have—do you want tea? Or coffee?”

“Can’t drink coffee,” Gerry says. “POTS.”

“Right,” Martin says. “Sorry. Water, then?”

Gerry considers this.

“Actually, yeah, thanks,” he says. The worst part about airports was they always took your water bottles. Gerry had brought a reusable one and had already filled it up, but they’d been waiting long enough that he had already drained half. Martin comes back with a new water and a few granola bars. Martin keeps one for himself and gives the rest to Gerry.

“Thanks,” Gerry tells him. He opens one, eats it, then shoves the rest in his bag. When he does, he can see Martin eying the scarf in his rucksack with interest. Gerry pulls out the scarf and zips up his bag.

“Friend made it for me,” Gerry offers, because he can tell Martin wants to ask. He rubs the fabric between his fingers. There’s the outline of two cherries sewn onto one side, part of an old joke. Gerry had once told Kira that their roots saved them, and so Kira had declared him one of their planted things. It was only natural he’d be given a nickname that proved it, especially since Kira was already calling Mae their “Pom-Mae-granite.” It wasn’t a big leap to get _cherry_ from _Gerry,_ which made him—ugh— _berry spooky._

He doesn’t offer any of this information to Martin. It’s a scarf with the colors of the nonbinary flag. What more did you need to know?

“They’ve got one they knitted first, but they said I couldn’t have it since it was their ‘practice scarf.’ They missed _one_ skitch.”

“Do you know if it was hard to knit the colors together?” Martin asks. “I’ve been trying to get into knitting lately. It’d be nice to make something like that, you know? I mean, not that specifically, but maybe the trans flag?”

“Oh!” Gerry says. He pulls out his phone. “I could ask them? I think they might be selling some of the stuff they make now, so you could probably just buy it, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind giving a few tips.”

“You don’t have to ask them _now,”_ Martin says. “I mean, they might not even be awake.”

“They’re in America,” Gerry says. “I think it’s only midnight.”

“Still kind of late for knitting advice,” Martin tells him.

“Honestly, I think they’d be fine with me waking them up at 3 AM to ask, just so long as I told them what you wanted to make,” Gerry says.

Martin snorts.

“Glad to see your friends have such great priorities,” he says.

“Kira likes helping out,” Gerry shrugs. “I’ll text them. I can ask if I can give you their number. If they answer, then we’ll know they’re awake.”

“Even if they give some advice, it’s not like we can _do_ anything with it,” Martin argues. “Kind of hard to knit when neither of us brought knitting needles.”

“You don’t know what’s in my bag,” Gerry says. Martin raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I _didn’t,_ but I could have. I have a pair in my flat somewhere. Just haven’t really used them enough to give any good advice.”

Martin looks at him for a moment.

“I was working with Gertrude for almost two years,” Gerry tells him, as if _Gertrude_ knew how to knit. “So I picked up some old lady habits. So what?”

Martin snorts and pulls a folder out of his bag.

“Well, I’m sure you’d make a great teacher, but knitting can probably wait,” he says. “We should probably go over some of this stuff, anyway. I don’t think anyone told you, but Jon found a statement from someone in the Church who was kind of bragging about their ritual. Said she knew Gertrude had stopped everyone else, but that the Dark wasn’t going to go down so easily.”

“And then they did,” Gerry says.

“Got a bit too confident,” Martin agrees. “Basira doesn’t think Ny Alesund’s actually the ritual site. More of a staging ground, I guess? Using the darkness from _there_ and putting it everywhere else? That’s why there was something going on in Hither Green around the same time.”

“Makes sense,” Gerry says. “You find anything else?”

“Basira found a statement on some astronomer,” Martin says. “I think she thinks that their leader might not actually be dead? I mean, he’s a body hopper, so really, it’s anyone’s guess. But they found some different sources on some of his other bodies dying, and obviously, that didn’t stick.”

“I doubt whatever was controlled Rayner found its way to Norway,” Gerry tells him. “Dunno if something like that can travel without a body. Not that far.”

Martin considers this.

“Yeah,” he says. “Guess that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about, at least.”

The flight passes pretty quickly, mainly because Gerry sleeps through most of it. When they land, the woman Gerry had talked to approaches them with a pamphlet about some old castle.

“Is this safe?” she demands.

Gerry looks it over. It _looks_ safe, but it’s interesting that she thinks it won’t be. Most likely, whatever’s going to find her, it won’t be because of where she goes, just who she is. Maybe it’s already found her, once.

“Don’t go alone,” Gerry tells her. “Remember that there will always be a dawn, even when you don’t see it.”

The woman hesitates. She still feels alone, Gerry can tell. But she’s not. She spent the whole flight bonding with her seat partner over the “weird goth” that had approached her. Easiest way to bond is over a funny story. Gerry’s glad to be of service.

“She’ll go with you if you ask,” Gerry tells her. 

“Right,” the woman says hesitantly. “Thank you.”

Martin watches her walk away.

“Is that it?” he asks. “I mean, you’re not going to track her down or anything?”

“That’s it,” Gerry confirms. “Sometimes you’ve just got to trust that they’ll make the right decisions.”

Martin doesn’t say anything to that, just waits for Gerry to take his cane out of his bag—he didn’t bring the one with spikes, unfortunately, it’s easier to deal with something foldable while traveling—and then starts walking. They’ve still got a few more stops after the airport. Martin doesn’t drive, and Gerry doesn’t have a license, so they’re planning on taking two busses—first to get out of the airport, and a second that’ll drop them off close to Ny Alesund. Gerry can tell Martin’s already exhausted from traveling, which means they’ll probably get a hotel and deal with the Church in the morning. Always best to head out when there’s more light, anyways.

“You really know what you’re doing, huh,” Martin says as they head out.

“I never know what I’m doing,” Gerry tells him. “I’m just making a lot of educated guesses.”

“That’s better than me, at least,” Martin says. “I know I was the one who suggested this, but Basira probably should have gone instead of me. She knows more about the Dark. Only thing I’ve been looking into is something we apparently don’t even have to worry about.”

“So, what, you’re saying you’re not qualified to be here?” It’s meant as a joke, but Martin looks away. “Martin, there’s no qualifications for looking into a spooky church.”

“Anthropology,” Martin mumbles. Gerry laughs. 

“If that’s the case, I’m just as unqualified as you are,” he tells him. “Probably more, actually. I’m guessing you actually went to school.”

“Most I’ve got is a GED,” Martin says. “Oh, here’s the bus stop. I’ll buy us our tickets.”

Gerry nods, and sits down at a bench. Martin comes back a few moments later.

“Hey,” Gerry asks him. “What’re you planning on doing after this?”

“Excuse me?” Martin asks.

“I mean, if you quit,” Gerry says. “Where would you go?”

Martin’s quiet for a moment.

“You mean because I lied on my CV,” he says.

“I mean, I’m not judging,” Gerry says. “I don’t even have a CV to lie on.”

Martin snorts at that, then bites his lip.

“I’ve been kind of worried about that, honestly,” he says. “I mean, I have—I’ve got a lot of bills. And not a lot of qualifications. And there’s not really a lot I can do about either of those, aside from, well… I made Peter give me a raise. He’s kind of been using me as his secretary. And if he’s giving me more work, then I’m getting more money. So I’ve been saving up, at least.”

“You’ve thought about this,” Gerry says.

“I kind of have to,” Martin shrugs. “Like I said, lots of bills. And I mean, leaving the Institute—well, taking that kind of drastic measure doesn’t lead to too many job opportunities. It’d be nice if I could take that time and go back to school or something, but I honestly don’t see that happening. Whatever job I get next, it’ll be for the money.”

Oh, right. Capitalism. Gerry hated that thing.

“Was that why you applied?” Gerry asks. “You didn’t have any interest in, you know, any of this?”

“I didn’t even believe in ghosts!” Martin tells him with a laugh. “Sasha used to joke about how many of us working in the Archives were Latine. We’re a superstitious people, you know? And her family… I think they gave her a lot of rosary and stuff when she first started. She told me that this necklace she had of the Negrita saved her while she worked in Artefact Storage.”

Martin stops and looks down at his feet.

“I mean, I think that’s what happened, anyways,” he mumbles. “It was her idea to put up an altar in their breakroom. I’m sure of that, at least. Only other person who would is Sonja, but she says she doesn’t remember doing anything like that.”

“And that didn’t make you believe?” Gerry asks. He’s trying for a joke, but his tone is too careful. He doesn’t know Martin well enough to know what he needs. “Sasha’s ghost story, I mean.”

“I kind of thought she was joking. But the statements…” Martin frowns. “Well, some of them are really hard to argue with, you know? And I mean, the longer you work in some place like this, the harder it is not to believe, but the thing was, I didn’t care about _any_ of this when I applied. All I knew was that I needed a job and they wanted to hire me. Was I suspicious they’d want someone so unqualified? _Absolutely._ But I assumed the only secret they had was that it was a front for something.”

“Well, I mean, technically…” Gerry begins. Martin rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but I was prepared to work for money launderers,” he says. “Not you know, _this.”_

“So where’s the line?” Gerry asks. “The murder’s fine, but the clowns were just too much?”

“You can arrest a murderer,” Martin says. “But there’s not too much the police can do about someone keeping you supernaturally tied to your workplace.”

Gerry snorts. So as long as the problem could be solved by mundane means, it was fine. Good to know.

“You’re surprisingly sensible for someone who works in the Archives,” Gerry tells him.

“I was trapped in my flat by worms,” Martin says. “And you know what? That was fine. All I had to do was clog up the exits and wait till she left. The clowns, though? We had to explode an entire _building_ on them, and suddenly, all my friends have broken bones. That’s—it’s a lot! I know the explosions weren’t anything special, but we needed Jon’s magic eyes or whatever to see through the ritual and I _definitely_ didn’t sign up for that.”

“That why you stayed behind?” Gerry asks. “Figured you knew more about dealing with getting the dirt on Bouchard?”

“I didn’t even really do that, either,” Martin reminds him. “I just burned a few statements while you and Melanie did all the hard work.”

“I didn’t have an evil bureaucrat rooting around in my brain, though,” Gerry says. “You risked yourself for us. I haven’t seen Elias in years now, and part of that's thanks to you.” 

Martin gives Gerry an awkward laugh.

“It was fine,” he says. “I mean, it wasn’t anything I didn’t know, not really. It was just… weird to think Elias knew so much about my mum.”

Martin doesn’t elaborate. Gerry doesn’t ask him to.

“Yeah,” Gerry says. “I get it.”

Martin nods, then gives Gerry a strange look.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re not with the Institute or anything, right? I mean, you’re not being paid by the Fairchilds or anyone, yeah?”

“I’m not,” Gerry confirms.

“Then what the hell do you do for money?” Martin asks. “I mean, I don’t think burning books really pays that well.”

Gerry snorts.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “But you can find a lot of weird shit, looking for Leitners.”

And not everything that was weird was haunted. None of his mum’s human clients disappeared just because she died. They never seemed to mind that Gerry had almost gone to jail for his mother’s murder. Maybe it added to the experience. Gerry wasn’t going to pretend to know what those rich idiots were thinking. 

“Sometimes all it is is a lot of stories and a few coincidences. You’d be surprised how much you can get people to pay for that.”

“Sounds like a lot of work, though,” Martin says.

“It can be,” Gerry says. Definitely too much for someone recovering, at least. Which is why in Pittsburgh, one of his sources of income had been the fact that he had told Julia and Trevor he wouldn’t tell them shit about monsters unless they bribed him. 

He really hadn’t expected them to take him up on that. They’d given him a lot, though, but not enough for everything. Gerry was lucky that Basil had ended up actually paying for most of their rent. One day xe had just sat them down and asked about his income and expenses until they decided on a “reasonable” amount. Gerry still thinks he could have paid more, but Basil had insisted there was no point in xir working for a bank if xe couldn’t cover some expenses every once in a while. Gerry’s pretty sure Basil had chosen xir job because of the money, too.

“If you could do anything, though,” Gerry asks. “What would you want to do after the Institute?”

Martin doesn’t answer him right away. Their bus arrives while he’s still thinking. It takes them a few moments to give their tickets to the driver and get onboard. When they do, Gerry pulls a bag of pumpkin seeds out of his rucksack and offers Martin some. Martin shakes his head.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what I’d do,” Martin admits. “I don’t think I ever really thought about the future? I mean, not in terms of something _I’d_ want to do. Mostly, I just think about my responsibilities.”

“I get that,” Gerry says. 

“I don’t know if I ever really had a chance to think about a dream career or anything,” Martin says. He pauses. When he speaks again, his tone sounds lighter. “I don’t know. I guess I always liked science? It just seemed really simple. Like, you have a problem, and you solve it. Or you do some tests, and _then_ you solve it. I dunno, it might be fun to be a biologist. I mean _yeah,_ I’ve seen evil worms and a lot of spiders are evil, but that doesn’t mean they _all_ are.”

“If you can get attacked by evil worms and still see the good in them, I think maybe you’re meant to be a scientist,” Gerry jokes. Martin snorts.

“Evil worms don’t really inspire too much terror when I know all I need to kill them is a fire extinguisher,” he says. “What about you? What would you be doing if you weren’t, well…”

“If I hadn’t spent my life burning evil books?” Gerry asks. He eats a few more pumpkin seeds and chews thoughtfully. “Not like I have that many skills either. A friend told me once that trying to guess what I knew was like spinning a wheel where all the options are wildcards.’”

Martin snorts at that.

“I like art, though,” Gerry adds. “Used to really like painting in my free time. Dunno if that’s enough to make a career in it.”

He doesn’t mention that he had ended up agreeing to let Tim show off Gerry’s art to his friends. He doubts anything will come of it, especially with all the limitations Gerry’s placed. There’d be no acting as Gerry’s agent. Tim couldn’t bring up Gerry being an artist unless a friend mentions looking for one, and Tim could only show certain pieces of art. Was Gerry setting himself for failure? Maybe. But Tim’s friends mainly published kids books and Gerry can’t imagine anyone thinking he has the right style for that, even if Tim had insisted someone he talked to seemed interested. Sharing his art was still so _new._ He’d talked art with Kira, and Portia, and Bridget, but the thought of being an actual artist, getting paid for work that might be shared throughout the UK, instead of just some weirdo decorating his flat with sigils? He didn’t know. It was just too much.

“I know what you mean,” Martin nods. “I write poetry, but I don’t think I’d ever try and get it published. It’s a nice way to get all my thoughts down, but no one really needs to know what I’m thinking.”

“Isn’t that what I’m asking about right now?” Gerry says.

“Talking’s a bit different than reciting poetry,” Martin tells him.

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“Do you really want to read my poetry?” Martin asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Gerry shrugs.

“Melanie thinks I’d make a good poet,” he says. “Figured I should start learning from the best.”

They check in with the rest of the Archives staff once they get to their hotel. There’s only an hour time difference between Norway and London, so they’re all still at work, though Basira’s out doing research. 

They have a video call. Melanie tells them they shouldn’t have taken a plane, because there was no way they’d get enough knives through airport security. Gerry wordlessly starts fiddling with a butterfly knife he had brought with him in response. Martin doesn’t appreciate how prepared he is, but Melanie sure does.

Jon wants to make sure they remember the plan. Not that they really have much of one. They’d figured out that the Dark had used some kind of ball of darkness to power their ritual, so they had brought glow sticks, along with a few other things that they could potentially throw towards it. If it was Dark, it probably wasn’t good to look too closely at it. Best to just throw a bunch of light at it and hope for the best.

If any of the Church is there, though, that’s a different problem, but they probably wouldn’t try and kill them right away. No matter how much the Dark hates the Eye and all it’s knowledge, they still thought Gertrude did something to stop their ritual. They’d want to know what that was. Then again, if they thought Gerry and Martin had just come to gloat, they might try and kill them on the spot.

So. You know. There was that.

Still, there couldn’t be _that_ many of them left. When Basira had been going after the remnants of the Circus, she had honestly barely found anyone. And out of the ones she _did_ find, Breekon had actually been in the best shape, despite being half dead. Also, there had only been, like, two survivors of the Flesh’s ritual. Even though the circumstances were different, they were both failed rituals. And the People’s Church was a church of _humans._ Or at least beings closer to humanity. Gerry doubted any of the Church’s members were anywhere close to that level of strength. Them being human might mean more of them lived, but all that meant more of them would leave. They were _human._ They had responsibilities. Some of them probably paid bills.

Also, the knife wasn’t the only weapon Gerry had brought, so. Whatever happened, Martin and he could probably fight them off.

Tim makes sure to tell Gerry he loves him before they sign off. Gerry responds with his own sign of affection. Jon takes this as a sign to declare his love as well, and pushes Tim out of the way so he can inform Martin he’s madly in love with him. Martin laughs and says he knows. Then they hang up.

“So,” Gerry says, sitting down on one of the hotel beds. “Ready for church tomorrow?”

Martin rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah,” he says dryly. “I love going to church. It’s my favorite place to go every week. I love all of the—what’ve they got in churches? Stained glass?”

Gerry snorts.

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of that,” he says. “Think they’re mostly about some guy? Long hair, bleeds a bit too much?”

“Yeah, I can’t say for _sure,_ but I don’t think he’ll be in Ny Alesund,” Martin tells him. 

“Probably not,” Gerry agrees. He starts kicking his leg against the bed. “I wouldn’t know. Never really met any of the People’s Church.”

“Really? ” Martin asks. “Not even with Gertrude?

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Gerry agrees. “I dunno. Maybe once or twice. Not like I bother to ask the religious beliefs of something trying to hunt me down. But I definitely didn’t see any with Gertrude. Think they might’ve been too busy preparing everything to cause trouble. Probably for the best, since that’s the exact opposite of what the Circus was doing. Can’t imagine having to deal with them both at once.”

“Yeah, probably,” Martin agrees. He winces at the thought. “But… none? Really?”

“It’s probably because they were all here,” Gerry says. “I traveled a lot with Gertrude, but never to Norway. Guess she wanted to keep me in the dark.”

Martin’s face twitches. Gerry’s not sure whether Martin wants to tell him off for his choice of words, or ask if he’s okay.

“I think maybe she was worried about how much Elias would know,” Gerry adds. “I mean, he sees out of eyes. And I’ve got,” Gerry gestures vaguely towards himself. “A lot of eyes. Never hurts to be careful.”

“Just doesn’t sit right with me, I guess,” Martin says. “I just wish we knew more about them.”

“Wouldn’t really be a great church of the Dark if they didn’t keep us guessing,” Gerry says.

“I mean, I’m Jewish, so I’m kind of in the dark about all churches.”

Gerry laughs.

“Well, in that case,” he says. “You picked a great day to learn.”

Ny Alesund is small and empty.

There’s a research post just outside of the town. The people inside say Nye Alesund’s abandoned, but one scientist swears he used to see a truck drive by every month. Deliveries, it looked like. But it hasn’t been back in a long time. If there’s anyone here, there’s not a lot that remains for them.

The town consists mainly of a few small houses and several research bases. It occurs to Gerry early on that there’s no way of telling if it’s actually empty, or if the blinds are just drawn. It’s not like the People’s Church would have any reason to keep the lights on, after all.

But no, Gerry feels nothing watching him. The town is empty. And they are alone.

There are no raised hairs on the back of his neck, no creatures peeking through the blinds. He can’t even see anything lurking in the shadows. There is no one to acknowledge his existence in this town. No one but Martin, still walking beside him.

There are no eyes here, not even the closed eye of the church.

Or maybe those eyes are just more hidden. After all, why advertise it? What would they gain by any part of themselves being out in the open?

Gerry’s cane is back in his bag. The lack of support means he’s got to focus a bit more on his walking, but better that than being caught off guard and accidentally using it as some kind of weapon. It’s grounding, in a way. Easier to worry about himself than the world around him. 

It’s cold. The sky’s not as bright as he had hoped. Gerry thinks it might rain. He hopes it doesn’t, but he’s not sure how much it’ll matter. Even if the Church doesn’t find them, Gerry thinks the emptiness might swallow him whole.

There’s a building without windows. It’s pitch black.

Gerry nudges Martin.

“Oh,” Martin says. “It’s—yeah, that’s exactly what I expected, honestly. Should we go in?”

The sign on the building labeling it the “Halley Research Building.” Gerry thinks he can see a closed eye hidden in one of the letters. Gerry flicks on his torch. The eye glows when the light hits it. It makes him feel… 

“Gerry?”

“If there’s anyone, this is where they’d be,” Gerry agrees. “You’ve got your torches?”

“Right here,” Martin says. He’s got a torch in each hand, and a headlamp on his forehead. Gerry turns on his own headlamp as well. Never hurts to be prepared, after all.

“Then I guess we’re going in,” Gerry says. He opens the door.

G-d, it’s so dark. 

Maybe that’s why he feels so on-edge. His entire life had been nothing but carefully honing a suspicion of the unknown. Of course he’s going to hate it here. Of course his mind would wander to the creatures he already knew lurked in the shadows. What would be the thing that grabbed them? A creature with claws or a beast that bites, or a monster that maims, or a hand that grabs, or a mouth that laughs as you cry for help, because it knows as well as you that you’ve never had anyone who cared enough to answer that call.

The important thing is they have their torches. And with the light, the building is just a building. There’s a receptionist office and artwork of a beast behind the desk. It looks religious. Christian, maybe? Cults tended to be, though it occurs to Gerry that neither he or Martin would be the best judge of that. There’s a long hallway in front of them. Two paths. No maps on the walls, but Gerry thinks he knows where to do.

“This way,” Gerry says. “Follow me.”

“There’s really… no one here, huh?” Martin says. He sounds a little breathless. Relieved, maybe. Gerry doesn’t answer.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them alone. But then there are footsteps behind him and Gerry knows they don’t belong to Martin.

Gerry twirls around to face whatever lone churchgoer has found them and sees nothing. He’s right about this, though, he knows that much. Whatever the state he’s in, Gerry’s ears rarely betray him. Martin opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Gerry’s too busy shining his torch around them to answer. Finally, he sees the glint of a knife. That’s enough. Gerry lunges, and hears a woman’s voice cry out. Martin squeaks in surprise.

“Who are you?” Gerry demands. 

The woman laughs. Looking at her is giving Gerry a headache, but he can make out a few features. Dark hair, longer than his own, and eyes even darker, though not naturally so. She’s pinned underneath him, but her expression suggests she feels anything but trapped. She only struggles when the light hits her, so Gerry points his torch a few centimeters away from her face. There’s no need for torment, but it’s best not to let her get too comfortable.

“I don’t know why you’d think I’d answer any questions,” she tells them. “Especially when _you’re_ the ones invading my house.”

“Is that really worth trying to kill us over?” Martin demands.

“If you’re who I think you are, you should be glad I didn’t come at you sooner,” the woman snarls. “So where is she? Where is the great Gertrude Robinson?”

“What?” Gerry asks. He almost drops his torch in surprise. Did she really not know?

“You’re with the Eye,” the woman says. She looks Gerry over. “I mean, of course _you_ are. But you already stopped our ritual. Why come to gloat now? Finally have time to fit us into your _busy schedules?”_

“Gertrude’s been dead for years,” Gerry tells her.

“So stopping us took everything from her,” the woman says, more than somewhat smug.

“She… she died in the Institute,” Martin says, trying for a gentle tone. “Elias shot her.”

“What?” the woman’s face falls. Gerry tenses, ready for whatever other reaction she’ll have to the bad news, but she doesn’t move. Just stares at Martin and Gerry, confused. “Then… why come here? There’s nothing left! The ritual failed—Maxwell—it’s all gone!”

“We know,” Martin says. “I mean, we had no idea. That’s why we came here.”

“To find out how we failed?” the woman shakes her head and pushes Gerry away. Gerry lets himself be moved. His arms are going to tire out if he keeps them on her, anyways, and she’s no danger. She’s just angry. And more importantly, she’s alone. If she attacks again, it’s still two against one. “It sounds like we weren’t as worthy as we thought. I had hoped—we came so close—but that wasn’t not enough. If Gertrude didn’t stop us… All we have to blame is ourselves.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Martin reassures her. He walks over to pat her on the back. He touches her carefully, like he’s testing to see if she has spikes, but the woman barely reacts. “Maybe Gertrude didn’t do anything, but there’s always Elias. He’s as much a bastard as she is. I’m sure there’s plenty of things he could have done.”

The woman snorts.

“Maybe so,” she says. “But we saw no flaws in our ritual. We had planned for Gertrude. I don’t know how much of a comfort it is, knowing that someone lesser defeated us.”

Martin pats her back again. She seems to genuinely appreciate the gesture, but still gives Martin a suspicious stare.

“Neither of you have asked for my statement,” she says.

“Oh,” Martin says. “I’m not the Archivist. Neither is Gerry, he doesn’t even work there—but Jon wanted to come! He’s our Archivist, but he has a broken leg, and that doesn’t make travel easy.”

“How very human of him,” the woman notes.

“You really don’t know what stopped your ritual?” Martin asks. “Sounds to me that if something was that powerful, the Institute would have plenty of reason to help you get revenge.”

The woman perks up at the thought, then frowns.

“We did everything right,” she insists. “I could—I _felt_ the world being remade. I could see the beauty in the darkness. And then it was just… _gone.”_

“Then why stay?” Gerry asks. The woman stiffens.

“The sun,” Martin realizes. “Or, the dark sun, I guess? Were you here to guard it?”

The woman doesn’t speak. Her eyes dart around, looking for the knife she dropped earlier. Martin eyes her warily for a moment before speaking.

“Right,” he says. “Of course. Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Martin, and this is Gerry. We don’t want your statement or anything, I promise. And we won’t take your sun. I mean, you spent so much time working on it. It just wouldn’t be fair.”

“Is that so?” the woman asks. She doesn’t believe them. That’s fair. Gerry does kind of want to destroy it. It’s an evil sun, after all. Probably not a great idea to have that just lying around.

Martin turns off his headlamp and puts away his torches.

“You’re right,” he says. “This is your house, and we’re trespassing. So thank you for, um, not killing us.”

“My name is Manuela,” the woman says, after a careful pause. “I hope you understand why I wouldn’t wish to say more.”

“That’s okay,” Martin says. “We don’t have to talk about the ritual! Maybe you could just… tell us more about your church?”

“... Really?” Manuela says. She turns to Gerry, who shrugs.

“I mean, we did come all this way,” he says. If Martin wants to listen to her recruitment speech, Gerry won't stop him. At least if they kept her talking, there won't be any fighting. Gives him enough time to think of an actual plan, too.

“And how many more opportunities will we get to hear a sermon from the People’s Church?” Martin asks. “I mean, you’ve been here for—oh geez, you’ve been here for _two years—_ but, uh, that just means you’re the most dedicated, right? So—so if we were going to listen to anyone, of course it’d be you.”

Nice save, Martin. Gerry resists the urge to give him a thumbs up. He’s sure Manuela wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, at least. Manuela eyes them both warily, but leads them to a small kitchenette.

“I don’t think I have any more tea,” she says. “But feel free to take a seat.”

Martin and Gerry both sit down. Manuela looks at them for a few moments before pulling up a chair for herself.

“The sun,” she begins slowly. “Has been worshipped throughout history. Throughout cultures. And yet, how many of those deities deserved it? Ra is nothing more than a corpse being pulled through the sky, destined to be eaten and swallowed whole. Apollo claimed to value the truth, to shed light on the mysteries of the future, and yet cursed a woman for attempting the same. How many have sacrificed blood in a desperate plea to appeal to the sun? How many have torn out pieces of themselves, desperately hoping that being _known_ would save them? How many have fallen victim to the light?”

Manuela lets her question hang in the air for a moment. Martin’s nodding along, though Gerry’s not sure if it’s an attempt to appease her, or if he’s actually agreeing. Gerry pinches him. Martin slaps his hand away and glares.

“I already gave my statement to your Institute,” Manuela continues. “I have spoken how the beliefs of my parents shaped my own. I could never find peace in their prayers. But I found it with Maxwell. _He’s_ the one who should be giving you this sermon, not me. If you listened to him, you would understand. I know that I am his most loyal follower, but a follower will never be any match for a true priest. But… if you’ve come to me…”

“He’s dead,” Martin says. “I’m sorry.”

Manuela chuckles softly.

“It’s alright,” she says. “I’ve been alone for two years now. I already knew they weren’t coming back.”

Manuela dries her eyes and glares at them.

“I’m not bitter,” she insists. “They left me here because I was their thaumaturge. I created this sun, and I am the only one left alive who can still look upon it. There is… there is honor in that, I think. No one can deny my faith. Not that it matters.”

Manuela looks off into the distance and sighs.

“My church will be forgotten,” she says. “Without Maxwell and his vision, there will be no reason for even your Institute to remember us. But perhaps that is for the best. Maybe that is the closest we will have to achieving our holy darkness.”

Martin and Gerry look at each other. What do you do when you meet a depressed priestess of a dying cult? How do you comfort someone who had agreed to isolate herself for years in the hopes that one day, her friends would come back to her, and all her problems would be solved? 

There was a certain amount of kindness in ignorance. Gerry had rarely been comforted by that, only finding relief when he had certainty. But he could understand this. If they hadn’t come, Manuela would never have to accept Rayner’s death. And why believe someone you loved was dead, when you could imagine them alive? Pretend that their life was a happy one, and that maybe, they were even missing you. Maybe, if you were good enough, they’d be back.

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says. Manuela shakes her head.

“That’s not your only option, though,” Martin says. He grabs her hand. “Help us kill Elias.”

“Excuse me?” Manuela says.

“Martin,” Gerry says because, _what?_ Yes, having a member of the People’s Church would probably make it easier for them to sneak into the prison, undetected, but that _one_ positive did not stop this from being a good idea.

“Hear me out,” Martin insists. “I mean, I know you say you’re fine with being forgotten, but I don’t believe that. Not like this. I mean, yeah, maybe you’ll still be forgotten, but maybe, if we do this right, so will Elias. That’s a pretty big win for the Dark, right? And, I know, I know, he’s not Gertrude, but revenge is still revenge, right?”

“And why do _you_ want Elias killed?” Manuela asks. “I’ve never liked how duplicitous he is in the way he garner's faith, but he is still your leader.”

“Yeah, but he’s a terrible boss,” Martin says. “We didn’t agree to any of this! I didn’t even care about the supernatural—I just accepted the job because it paid well. And Elias… he got a friend of mine killed. It was _months_ before anyone told us she was dead and not just missing. And we keep—things keep attacking us! We would have been better off without him. I came to the Institute for a job. Not for—not for _arcane knowledge.”_

Manuela clasps his hand.

“I understand,” she tells him. “He has no right to force his wisdom onto you. And it was he who hired Gertrude. Perhaps she too wished for freedom, but years of his corruption had molded her into a creature of words.”

“Oh,” Martin says, clearly surprised at how well that worked. “So, you’ll help?”

“I suppose I have a duty to prevent him from ruining yet another generation,” Manuela says hesitantly. “But I cannot abandon my perch. And after years of living in blessed darkness… I’m not sure I could return to the light.”

“Wait, like, metaphorically?” Martin asks. “Or actual light?”

“I left my humanity behind long ago,” Manuela says. “How else could I show the depth of my faith? I had no reason to hesitate, not when I had such a large congregation, but now…”

“I could help,” Helen offers. Manuela and Martin both scream. She’s sitting at the table with them.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Gerry asks. Helen shrugs and grins. Her white teeth light the room better than any of Gerry’s torches.

“Who are you?” Manuela demands. Helen holds out a hand. Manuela doesn’t shake it. 

“My name is Helen,” Helen says. “You may call me the Distortion, if you’d like, but that’s more of what I _do._ Would any of you fine creatures like a door?”

“Helen can create a door that leads to anywhere on Earth,” Gerry explains. “She could bring us all back to London. Not sure why she cares, though.”

“Personally, I think this plan of yours sounds _hilarious,”_ Helen says. “I’m not sure if it’ll work, but it does sound like some quality entertainment.”

Gerry’s pretty sure Martin’s rolling his eyes. It’s hard to tell. Even with Helen, there’s not really a lot of light.

“And what of my star?” Manuela asks.

“I could keep it,” Helen says. Manuela stands. “Not forever, mind you! Think of it as a loan. There’s no light in my hallways, not _really._ It would be safe. Maybe even safer than me! There’s not a lot to distort in the dark, after all. It sounds like it could be painful. But I would try. For you.”

“Why?” Manuela demands.

“Because I would like to see the world you create with it,” Helen tells her. “I may be a creature of lies, but all that means is that my kind can appreciate the beauty in a world unseen.”

Manuela hesitates.

“Come on, girl!” Helen says. “You’ve been looking after this thing for years! Haven’t you earned a break? Don’t you deserve a chance to let loose and kill a man?”

“No,” Manuela says. “I won’t trust a creature of lies.”

Helen shrugs. The smile doesn’t leave her face. Gerry feels his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignores it. Whoever it is, he’s sure they can wait a few minutes while they try to convince Manuela to give up her whole reason for living.

“Manuela,” Martin says. “Don’t you think Maxwell would have wanted you to be happy?”

Manuela snorts.

“This would not be the first time I’ve had to prove myself with my suffering,” she says. Martin’s face falls.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “But… but what about your church? I mean, you can’t really spread the word from here, could you? No offense, but do you even have internet?”

“The dark sun…” Manuela begins hesitantly.

“It won’t even let you on the dark web?” Gerry asks. Martin smacks his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” Martin says over Helen’s laughter. “I promise you we’re treating this seriously. Helen’s a good person, too, she just has a terrible sense of humor. She wouldn’t take your star. We can see how important it is to you.”

“I am many things,” Helen agrees. “But above all, I would like to be your friend.”

“I wasn’t aware things like you _had_ friends,” Manuela retorts. Helen places a hand on her chest, but her steady smile makes it clear she takes no offense.

“Manuela,” Martin insists. “If you go, you’ll have a chance to rebuild your church. You could—you have a chance to save more people from the light! Shouldn’t you take it?”

Manuela hesitates and glances at a door, then back to Martin. It’s clear he doesn’t know what the effect of his words will be, but from the way Manuela bites her lip—is that what she’s doing? It really is too dark to tell—she clearly thinks he’s making a point.

“I… I suppose I might as well,” Manuela says. She turns to Helen. “I don’t trust you, but I have faith in my creation. I _will_ come claim it one day. And if you refuse to return it to me, it will swallow you whole.”

“That’s the spirit!” Helen cheers. “So, where is your little bundle of joy?”

Manuela snorts.

“It’s close,” she says. “Come. Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention it before, but I changed some things in previous chapters! I looked into blast injuries, and it seemed to me like I downplayed the Unknowing a bit too much, so I went back and edited a bit. You can find it all here: https://ofdreamsanddoodles.tumblr.com/post/625449292228902912/i-did-a-lot-more-research-into-explosions-the
> 
> up next: how to cast a fishing line


	7. Hoist the Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when casting a fishing line, make sure to look out for the beast below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 145  
> supplemental reading: MAG 132
> 
> please look at the end notes for trigger warnings!

It takes them about half an hour for Manuela to get all her things and convince herself to actually hand over her Black Sun. She says it’ll kill them to look at, and Gerry doesn’t see any need to test that theory, so he and Martin turn around and listen as the song of darkness is embraced by Helen's nonsensical humming.

Then Helen drops them off in the tunnels.

She winks at Manuela as she leaves, which Gerry makes a point to ignore as he climbs up the trapdoor and into the Archives.

“Oh, thank g-d,” Melanie says, once he’s out. She’s holding onto Basira while Jon desperately tries to text someone on his phone. Basira’s entire body shakes as she gasps for breath. “Finally, someone sensible.”

 _“Me?”_ Gerry says.

“Well, I definitely didn’t mean Jon!” Melanie says. Jon doesn’t even bother arguing, just casts Gerry a pleading look.

“Before anyone tells me what’s going on, I’d just like to say that there’s a woman in the tunnels who made the evil sun for the People’s Church,” Gerry says. No one bats an eye. Cool. Problem for later, then. “Alright. What’s going on?”

“Basira did some kind of fucked-up ritual,” Melanie says. “Wait. Jon, where’s the tape?”

Jon puts his phone down and hands Melanie a tape as Martin climbs up the trapdoor. He surveys the scene, then shoots Gerry a frown. Yeah, Gerry gets it. These people are complete _disasters._ Couldn’t they have waited at least another day before metaphorically blowing up their workspace?

“Basira found the statement of Arthur Nolan,” he explains. “In it, Gertrude explains how she bound herself to Agnes, and, well… It appears Basira has tried to replicate that.”

“We weren’t even gone for a full two days!” Martin says. Basira lets out an indignant wheeze. 

“Okay,” Gerry says. “Explain to me what happened. And where’s _Tim?”_

“Still having lunch, I think,” Melanie says. “He went to meet with a friend, and—look, I literally just got here! I was eating lunch across the street, and when I came back, Jon was finishing up a statement, and _Basira—”_

“The Coffin,” Jon interrupts. “She brought the Coffin into the Archives, show them—”

“Shit, right,” Melanie says. She helps Basira sit down in a chair and grabs Gerry’s hand, then pushes him closer to the Coffin. There’s a table set up next to it. On it, there’s a scarf, tied together with spidersilk and hair ties. Surrounding them are a few crystals, one of which is shaped like an arrow. Well, at least that means she’s done her research.

There’s a few fake flowers, too, and a toy coffin. A ceramic wolf stands nearby.

“There’s just—she brought _so much_ stuff in here. I don’t know how Jon didn’t notice.”

“He couldn’t,” Basira wheezes. “And I knew you’d be out for at least an hour.”

“And you thought what?” Melanie demanded. “‘Oh, let me just bind my soul to someone stuck in an evil box, sure that’ll be a good use of my free time, all I’ve got to do is drag this _giant coffin_ down a flight of stairs with a _broken ankle!_ ”

“Where did you get the spiderwebs?” Gerry asks.

“Breekon’s van,” Basira gasps out. “Didn’t have a lot of the right things, so I just… made do with what I had. Gertrude—she said it burnt her lungs. So I thought… thought maybe I’d feel Daisy’s. At least if I couldn’t save her, I could—I don’t want her to hurt. If I can’t fix this, I can still help her. If she has my lungs, at least she can breathe.”

“You sound like you’re having a panic attack,” Martin tells her.

“I might be doing that too,” Basira admits. She wheezes again.

“Okay,” Gerry says. He pauses. “Wait a second.”

Gerry goes back to the trapdoor and opens the hatch.

“Manuela?” Gerry calls.

“Yes?”

“There’s a real stupid problem in the Archives,” Gerry tells her. “I promise we’ll get back to you in a second, okay?”

Manuela snorts.

“Good luck,” she says. Her tone suggests she thinks they’ll need it. She’s probably right.

“Cool, thanks.” Gerry closes the trapdoor and turns back to Basira. “Okay. Walk me through what’s happening here. Why the fuck did you buy all these crystals.”

“They’re grounding,” Basira coughs. She looks back at the Coffin. “Gertrude… she said she had to find ways to fight off the flame. Used a lot of their own symbols as some kind of protection. I figured, anything grounding should help against the endless dirt. And there’s a shop near my flat that sells crystals. Always thought that was kind of a silly thing to believe in, but…”

“You didn’t have to do this alone,” Jon says. “You shouldn’t have! Gertrude never intended her ritual to end up the way it did! We could have—you should have let us improve on it together!”

“I wasn’t alone,” Basira admits. “I went to see Elias.”

There’s a cold and unforgiving silence. Basira wheezes through it.

“I know he’s evil,” Basira continues. “But you wouldn’t have understood—none of you would. You don’t want her back. Not like I do.”

“We would have still helped,” Jon insists.

“I couldn’t trust that,” Basira says.

“But you could trust _him?”_ Martin asks.

“I could trust that he’d want me to know this,” Basira says. “He—he used to call me ‘Detective.’ I thought that whatever he wanted from me, it probably had something to do with getting more knowledge. But he didn’t help. Not that much. Just went on about how I was the only one left to protect the Archives, now that Melanie’s better, so I couldn’t just bury myself without thinking of the consequences. Told me that he was the one who called in a tip about the People’s Church kidnapping that kid, too. Not that that really matters now.”

“So this wasn’t his plan?” Gerry asks. Basira shakes her head. Well, at least there was that.

“When I left, he called me Detective again,” she says. “But then he—he hesitated a bit, like he wasn’t sure that was right. Then he just… said goodbye. Wished me luck on my chase.”

Gerry winces. That… didn’t sound good. But it wasn’t surprising, either. Basira had been fighting off monsters all of last month. Of course she would smell their blood.

Seeing his expression, Basira clutches her fists. She’s still breathing heavily, though there’s not as much gasping. She’s quieter, now. Quiet enough that they both hear the tape recorder whirling on top of the Coffin.

When had _that_ gotten there?

“I think,” Basira says slowly. “It’s time for me to give my statement.”

“Are you sure?” Jon asks.

Basira laughs, voice hoarse and dry.

“I never meant for this to be a secret,” she says. “Just needed you out of my way for a bit. And I want—I need you to understand. I wasn’t doing this to save her.”

“I…,” Jon frowns. “Very well.”

“Wait,” Gerry says. “Before you start. Anyone got a pen and some paper?”

They’re all looking at him now. Gerry rolls his eyes.

“For sigils,” he explains. “The gems are all well and good, but your wards could use some work.”

Basira sighs, clearly relieved. 

“Don’t you have some in your bag?” Martin asks.

“Forgot that was still with me,” Gerry admits. Christ, Basira was stressing him out way too much. He pulls his bag off his shoulder and searches through it for his sketchbook. “Alright, yeah. Continue.”

“Statement of Basira Hussain, regarding her interest in a coffin,” Jon says. “Statement taken September 24, 2017. Statement begins.”

“You don't know what it's like,” Basira says. Her voice is clear now. No gasps, no harsh breaths, nothing. There’s barely more than the slightest hesitation. “To be the person someone calls when they know they’re going to die. No one calls the cops on a monster because they think that'll help. No one ever expects help from strangers in a uniform. You don’t call us because you want sympathy, or because you think it’ll make things better. You called because you have no other choice. Because you don’t want to leave a mystery behind. Because you need someone, _anyone,_ to know that whatever happens next wasn’t up to you. Because you want to have proof that something bad happened. That something bad might _still_ be happening, even if no one knows it but you. You call the police because the hearse is busy. Or because they haven’t heard about the Institute. I guess it’s a bit ironic. Even before I worked here, I was still taking statements. And that _changes_ you. From my very first day as a cop, all I did was see people on the worst day of their lives, and I couldn’t do anything to help but make them relive whatever trauma resulted in a call to us. I saved a kid from the Church, yeah, but I didn’t do that alone. I was just the one who survived long enough to bring him home.”

Basira sighs. Gerry tears a page out of his sketchbook and places it with her scarf. Her posture immediately loosens. Gerry draws another symbol for good measure.

“We had a whole team to get him back, you know?” Basira continues. Her tone is conversational, but there’s a glint in her eyes that makes her look possessed. Gerry had only ever watched Gertrude take a few statements, but it’s clear this is different, somehow. There’s a frantic energy to Basira that Gerry had never seen in a statement giver before, and the more she talks, the worse it gets. “It wasn’t just Sectioned officers. There was a whole firearms team, too. But that didn’t stop this woman from coming at us with a _knife._ And this guy I knew—Leo, Leo Altman—and she buried her knife in his throat before I could stop her. She disappeared, and Leo bled out on the floor, eyes suddenly a milky white. And all I could do was… watch.

“I gave my statement about it to Jon, and quit about a week later. They wanted to cover up the death, but I couldn’t look the other way. He deserved to die a hero, not as some _dirty cop!_ He was a good man. We weren’t friends, not really, but I refuse to believe someone I knew could have ever been involved in something like that. He deserved to have his death told properly. The Church isn’t the only one who can kidnap a child. There were so many other excuses they could have given, so many things they could have claimed happen—but they didn’t do any of that. Guess it’s just easier for them to just pretend we don’t exist. And as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that keeps insisting it would have been easier to do the same.

“Worst part is, I know Elias planned this. _He_ was the one who called in the tip in the first place. And _of course_ he was. What’s another thing in my life I can’t control? When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me all the time that if I didn’t like something, it was up to me to change it, but life’s a lot more complicated now then bad grades or an ugly garden. It was so easy in theory. All I wanted was to make sure justice was served, right? So all I had to do was find a way to be that justice. But that’s not who I am. It’s not who I’ve ever been. All I can make anyone do is follow the law, and it’s not like you can give a coffin a ticket.

“Maybe you won’t believe me, but I’ve always trusted my precinct. Sure, maybe I’d hear a few bad jokes every now and then, but I always wanted to believe the best in everyone, you know? Not just Daisy, but people like Leo, too. The first partner I had wasn’t the greatest guy, but he deserved better than what he got. Yeah, he wasn’t nice, but he tried, and shouldn’t that be enough? He didn’t have to be nice if he was still saving lives, though he’s not really doing either, now. The thing that got me Sectioned killed him. I’d only been on the force about a year by then. I barely had the chance to get to know anyone in the precinct, so I convinced myself they were harmless. Especially compared to the creatures I knew were out there. Maybe they told a few stupid jokes, but they were here to help, just like I was. I know what people say about cops, alright? It’s hard not to. I used to tell myself I’d speak up if something really bad happened, but when Leo died, the department called him a crook, and instead of saying anything I just… ran away. I could have talked with the other officers. I could have protested, insisted that he died a hero, and not a villain. But I didn’t. And I can’t even say I was too scared to. What reason did I have to fear humans? What could they do to me that I couldn’t do to them?

“Maybe it’s not about fear. Maybe it never was. Maybe I was always too comfortable with the situation I was in. I should have quit a long time ago, but I couldn’t believe it mattered either way. It’s easy to get used to a status quo. And it’s easy to handle monsters, too, once you’ve got a routine down. After a while, all I had to do was wait in the car until Daisy came back smelling like blood.

“I didn’t want to be useless. I did what I could, but one good deed rarely made up for months of inaction. I used to call the victims back, when I first started, the ones I knew Daisy wasn’t scoping out. I’d ask them if the problem was fixed, if whatever was hunting them finally left them alone. The good news is, the answer wasn’t always a no. But sometimes the answer was a disconnected phone, or a family member, tearfully telling me the one I was looking for was already long gone. So I stopped calling. And instead I just… did what I knew worked. And I kept waiting in the car.

“It was so easy to ignore it all when the one suffering wasn’t her. Easy to deal with the world when I could trust that the only one who _really_ mattered would survive it all. I used to have people coming to me, tears in their eyes, begging I do something about some monster terrorizing their home. I always knew I couldn’t save them. And why would I try? The first Sectioned case I got, I met a man that felt like fire. The cuffs I slapped on him almost melted right off. My partner at the time looked at a book of his, and it got him killed. Was it so terrible that I didn’t want to see that again? That I looked away when someone insisted the monster of their story was _right there?_

“Does that sound cruel? I never meant to be. I don’t think I’m heartless for not wanting to die. Only, the thing is, I was never the one in danger. I was off watching on the sidelines. It was so easy to ignore the screams when they came from strangers. Easy to ignore suffering when I didn’t have to see a knife to anyone's throat. But there’s a space by my side she used to be, and that, I can’t ignore.

“I want you to know I never approved of her methods. I know what you all think of me, but that’s true. I just never saw the point in trying to stop her. The bad guy gets caught either way, right? But then she went after you, Jon. So I spoke up. And look where that got me. It’s pathetic, honestly. All that time as a cop, I barely even saved one kid while Daisy was killing hundreds. Was she wrong? She told me that every kill she made was justified, and I believed her because I want to trust that my friend wouldn’t lie to me. I always figured that if there was a better way, she would have found it. Burying someone in a ditch should never have been my idea of justice, but the lot she used is almost full now. No matter what kind of mess she made, Daisy always got results. So maybe this is a mess, too. But I trust Daisy enough that I know this story will have the right conclusion.”

“How is she _worth_ that?” Gerry demands. He gestures to the mess around them. “What would be worth… _any_ of this?”

“I can’t do this without her,” Basira tells him. She coughs. “She’s the only one… she’s my _partner.”_

Her partner, yes. Gerry can tell that Basira knew about the bodies for a while. Maybe not every single one, but enough to try and stop her, certainly. Enough to at least make some kind of plea. But Basira didn’t do any of that. No, to her, Daisy’s murders were _productive._ To her, Daisy was still someone she needed to save.

He thinks he might hate her.

Gerry had hoped that knowing more would make her change her mind. That once Basira realized how much work it’d be to escape the Coffin, she’d give up and realize there were better ways of spending her time. But knowledge had a way of infecting people, especially those working in the Magnus Archives. There was no easy cure for something like this.

“It should have been me,” Basira says. Even though no more questions have been asked, Gerry can still feel the compulsion still buzzing in her voice. Sometimes, the need to have your story told is stronger than just one person’s questions. "All of it—the fire, the darkness—even the _explosion._ I wasn’t hurt. Not like any of you. Because I didn’t do _anything._ I just walked in and walked out. Tim pressed the button. Jon focused him. Daisy killed Hope. But what point is there to finding the exits if you can’t guide anyone else through it? And I know—” 

Basira cuts herself off with a cough. 

“I don't know if I could get out of the Buried with Daisy,” she continues. “But I thought I could get out by myself. I knew the way out of the Unknowing. Looking back, it was so simple. I didn’t need any powers. No magic, no _help._ I was trapped in that place, so I tried to figure it out. And I did, a little. And then I kept doing that, until I got out. I reasoned my way out of that nightmare.”

“That’s…” Gerry begins. Basira smiles.

“Pretty lucky, right?” she says. “The thing is, I didn’t see it as luck, or anything like that. I just saw it as _me._ And I was something I could trust. I thought that’d be enough to find Daisy, only you seemed pretty sure no one could make it out of the Coffin. I think maybe—maybe I could have found her. Tracked her path, even inside that thing. But I couldn’t be sure I’d find my way back out. Not without an anchor.”

Basira actually laughs at this.

“It was almost funny, really,” she says. “I was so sure that if it was the other way around, I’d have already come back to her by now. It was too bad I couldn’t take her place, or find a way out _for_ her—except, well, I could. I listened to Nolan’s tape. The only person I trusted to get out of the Coffin was myself. And there was nothing stopping Daisy from becoming a bit more _me.”_

As soon as Basira stops speaking, Gerry hears the sound of scratching coming from the coffin. When Gerry turns back to stare Basira, she has the wide eyes of a beast.

“I think,” Melanie says, sounding just as surprised as Gerry feels. “We might want to open the Coffin now.”

The tape clicks off. Basira blinks back tears. Her eyes aren’t human, not exactly, but they’re kinder, somehow. She takes a few shaky breaths before standing up and walking to the Coffin to pull the lid off herself. After a moment, Melanie and Gerry both help, too. 

A dirtied claw sticks out of the Coffin. It’s birdlike, but not feathered. Just clawed and dangerous. Basira grabs it without hesitation.

“Daisy,” she cries out. “Daisy, you’re here.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Daisy says, as she climbs out. She’s babbling. Gerry’s not sure she knows where she is. All she seems to see is Basira, ready to welcome her into her arms. Basira, who can see what a monster she is, but still doesn’t look away. Why? How could something like Daisy ever deserve that much trust? “It used to hurt, and that scared me. But then I wasn’t afraid, so I found my way home.”

“You found me,” Basira says. She’s trembling. “You’re safe now.”

Mixed in with the dirt and the grime, Gerry can see spiderwebs trapped in Daisy’s long hair.

There’s nothing Gerry can do to swallow down the sudden rush of fear this brings him.

“Hey guys?” Tim says. Gerry turns. He’s holding coffee in one hand, and a bag of donuts in the other. “What the fuck?”

They give Manuela the donuts. Tim had originally bought them as an apology for staying out so long, but if anyone needs an apology, it’s Manuela, who has to keep sitting in the tunnels while they deal with Daisy. At least the chairs are still down there and she’s not just sitting on the ground.

“What made this look like a good idea?” Tim demands, after Melanie explains the situation. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed Jon calling him, or the texts. It definitely bothered him. More than Gerry had expected it would. “I mean, weren’t we _just_ saying not to trust the Web? So why the hell did you think wrapping yourself in it’s silk would end well?”

“I didn’t…” Basira frowns. “I saw my chance to get Daisy out, so I took it. Whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out.”

“Right, because we can totally expect to keep a clear head in the face of the _embodiment of manipulation,”_ Gerry snorts. “You didn’t think this through.”

“She never does,” Daisy says. She rubs her hands. They still look like claws to Gerry, though no one else seems to notice. Maybe they can’t. The talons aren’t as sharp, though, but that’s a fact that comes as no relief. A creature that bites doesn’t change their nature just because someone files down their fangs.

Basira glares at Daisy.

“Excuse me for trying to help,” she snaps. “Maybe you’re all fine with sitting around and doing nothing, but I’m not! Yeah, it wasn’t the best plan, but according to Gerry, _no one_ comes out of the Coffin. I did the best I could.”

“I’m sorry we’re not being appreciative enough that you made monster history,” Tim says. “Unfortunately, we’re a bit distracted by the fact you _made monster history._ Why the hell did Breekon’s van have so many cobwebs?”

“Found an old statement about two men on a train,” Basira replies. “They had some kind of spider monster. I figured the statement had to be about Breekon and Hope, which meant the webs were old enough that whatever plan it was for was a long time ago.”

She glares at Gerry.

“It’s not like I didn’t think any of it through,” Basira says. “Been planning this for at least two weeks. And honestly, from what you’ve said, everything we do could be a part of some grand master plan. So, what did you want me to do? Sit on my hands and hope that’s not what the Spider wants?”

Gerry doesn’t reply right away.

G-d, this is too much. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t even _considered_ the possibility that he’d walk into the Archives to find Basira in the middle of some bloody _soulmate_ ritual. If he had, he wouldn’t have given her the tape.

“It is impressive,” Gerry admits. “I can’t think of anyone else who could have thought of this. But that doesn’t mean it’s worth what it’ll turn you into.”

“I don’t feel different,” Basira says.

“I don’t believe that,” Melanie says. “I mean, just _look at you!”_

“Your eyes,” Martin adds. “They’re—they looked different, for a moment.”

“They still look different,” Melanie argues. She turns to Gerry. “You see it, right? There’s something wrong with her pupils. Daisy’s, too.”

“You have the eyes of someone looking for blood,” Gerry says. Basira turns away from him, head still held high, but very obviously obscured by Daisy, standing next to her.

“Oh,” Daisy says. She touches Basira’s wrist and smiles at her. “Those are my eyes.”

Basira tenses.

“Do you hear it?” Daisy asks her.

“I don’t hear anything,” Basira insists, but her face does something strange. “Just… a bit of ringing, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says. “You always deserved better than being chained to my anger.”

“I saved you,” Basira says. Her voice is firm. There’s no room for doubts, not even her own. “I got you out. That’s a good thing.”

Daisy lets go of her wrist.

“You never cared when I heard the blood before,” she says. Basira lowers her head. “I thought you knew. I’ve never been a good woman. Someone like me shouldn’t have been made strong enough to escape.”

“That’s not true,” Basira insists. “You didn’t _know,_ not really. If you were evil, I wouldn’t have saved you. I wouldn’t—you’re fine now, aren’t you? I—I was already your tie to humanity, right? And now we’re just… closer. And the ritual I based this on, Gertrude’s ritual—it stopped Agnes from destroying the world! Because—because they were connected. It changed her. Made her better.”

Gerry can’t help the noise of disbelief that comes out of him. Gertrude had never made anyone better. And, honestly, knowing Gertrude, the intent had probably been to stop Agnes for good. No need to subdue someone if you could just kill them.

“I wasn’t dangerous in the Coffin,” Daisy says slowly, as if this is a warning, and not a fact. “I was just… me. No anger. No need to hunt. And I was worried. About what would happen if I got out. Because all I could think about was how many people I had hurt and how many of them didn’t deserve it. I thought that, maybe, if I came back somehow, I could try and be better. But then you called my name, and I could smell blood.”

Basira looks horrified.

“That’s not what I wanted,” she insists. “I just…”

“I told you,” Gerry says gently. “No human could escape the Buried.”

“I haven't been human for a while,” Daisy says. She sounds more agreeable than he had expected, but Gerry doesn’t know her well enough to see what’s bubbling up under the surface. “Then I was. And now I’m not again. But this is… different.”

“How?” Jon asks. Daisy shrugs.

“I didn’t choose the blood this time,” she says. “It smells different, now. And all my hunts, everything before this… they were all my decision. I could justify it to myself because I always had proof that they were a monster. And I—I made the _choice_ to get rid of monsters, even if it was hard to hold myself back sometimes. But this…”

“I’m sorry,” Basira says. Daisy shrugs again.

“It’s a relief, honestly,” she says. “When I was in the Coffin, I could feel everything being stripped away from me. All my anger, my rage. And I was worried that it’d come back if I got out. That I’d hurt people again. Make the wrong choices. But I can trust you to save me. And I can trust whatever you do next, too.”

“You don’t always like my choices,” Basira reminds her.

“Because you never think things through,” Daisy says. “But that’s not a bad thing. Sometimes, being objective means you’re making the wrong choice. It’s better to make a decision that decreases suffering, even if it means there’ll be hell to pay, but I never think about something like that. You do.”

“Don’t make me sound so selfless,” Basira snorts.

“Aren’t you?” Daisy asks. “Why else would you save me?”

Basira doesn’t say anything.

“She’s her own person,” Gerry answers instead. “Not your moral compass. Don’t tie yourself to her without asking.”

“Do they even have a choice in the matter?” Jon asks. “If the original version of this ritual changed someone enough to stop them from ending the world… shouldn’t they expect to be a bit more… intertwined?”

“Gertrude never met Agnes,” Gerry says. “They were connected, yeah, but they weren’t stuck together.”

“I didn’t save Daisy to avoid her the rest of my life!” Basira snaps. She sighs and rubs her temples, then hugs herself, tucking her arms close to her chest and twisting the fabric of her shirt. Quieter, she adds, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But what other choice did I have?”

“You could have left me,” Daisy tells her. Her voice doesn’t waver. This is a fact, not a suggestion. Basira blinks rapidly, trying to rid the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I _couldn’t,”_ she says, voice cracking.

“You should have,” Daisy says.

“But I do!” Basira insists. “You’re my friend, my _partner,_ and I should have been there for you! I should have—”

“I was planning on killing him,” Daisy says. No one asks who “him” is. Tim and Martin both move closer to Jon. Gerry’s too startled to move. “I saw him in my dreams. Every night. Wasn’t sure I could blame him for that, but I didn’t care. If it was his fault, he was a monster. And that meant he needed to go.”

“But we—we stopped the Circus together!” Jon says. A hand flies to the scar on his neck. He sounds betrayed. Martin reaches over to squeeze his hand, but Jon doesn’t even look his way. He just stares at Daisy, wide-eyed and afraid. 

“And that was all I needed you for,” Daisy tells him. “I know how to prioritize. Just because I wanted you dead doesn’t mean I was willing to doom the world for it.”

“You’re sick,” Tim tells her.

“I don’t want that now,” Daisy says. “It was just the beast.”

“I thought you _were_ the beast,” Tim challenges. He steps closer. “If you hated us all so much, why stay? No one trapped you here, or made you feed any kind of terrible instinct. You don’t need statements, or the Institute. Or are you still out for our blood?”

 _“Tim,”_ Basira says. Tim doesn’t take his eyes off Daisy.

“I know you came back because you wanted to kill Elias, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t tell what you were doing before,” he says. “Elias confessing to murder was plenty distracting, but so was the blood dripping down Jon’s neck. You think we couldn’t see the blood on your hands? You didn’t even have the decency to throw away the knife.”

“Come on, Tim,” Basira insists. Finally, Tim turns his head. “She just got back. Doesn’t she deserve a break before you start interrogating her?”

She tries to step in front of Daisy, but Daisy shakes her head.

“Don’t we deserve a break from _her?”_ Tim argues. “She never had to take it this far. Melanie was infected with the Slaughter for _months,_ and the only people she hurt were the ones that were hurting her. So what makes Daisy so special, huh?”

He takes a step forward.

“I told you she wasn’t a good person,” Tim says. “Martin did, too. He said she’d kill us, if she got out, and isn’t it so funny how close he got to the truth? Guess I should be glad she doesn’t want to kill me too. So thanks for that, I guess. Shows some real self-control.”

“Tim,” Gerry says. Tim doesn’t hear him. He turns back to Daisy.

“There’s still people in there,” he says. The accusation is clear. “No one forced you to kill anyone. No one made you leave the Coffin, either. But you chose both. Did you try and take someone else with you, or were you just concerned with your own suffering? You knew how hard it was to drag yourself out, but you still left alone. I thought you wanted to be better. What the hell stopped you from starting now?”

Daisy doesn’t have an answer for that. She knows there’s no excuse, but reaches for one anyways.

“I… I never saw… and Basira… She…” Daisy tries. Tim cuts her off.

“You’re a selfish woman, Alice Tonner,” he tells her. Is it Gerry’s imagination, or is he brighter, now? Either way, there’s power enough in his words to make Daisy take a step back. She doesn’t look scared, though. Just guilty. So, _so_ guilty. “You spent your life training your body into something awful, killing because you _knew_ no one could stop you. I’m glad we didn’t leave you in there. Someone had to let you know the truth. Sealing yourself away won’t change who you’ve always been.”

“Stop,” Jon says. His voice is barely more than a whisper. _“Please.”_

Tim doesn’t react. Gerry touches his arm. Tim turns and Gerry nudges him towards Jon.

“Oh.” Tim’s shoulders relax. Whatever anger possessed him is gone now. Tim looks at Jon, regret and understanding immediately clear in his eyes. “Jon, I’m sorry.”

Jon just shakes his head. Martin’s got him wrapped in a tight hug, but Jon hasn’t taken his hand away from his throat. Gerry doesn’t blame him for being shaken up. It’s not easy to hear something like that. Someone had hurt him once, and had not only not regretted it, but spent their time together waiting for a second chance. Daisy terrifies him.

Martin pets Jon’s hair.

“Manuela’s in the tunnels,” Jon says. His voice wavers. “We should—we should probably go talk to her.”

“Martin promised her she could help kill Elias,” Gerry puts in. Jon looks at him, then turns to stare at Martin. The absurdity of Gerry’s sentence seems to have at least partially shocked Jon out of his trauma. Good.

“She was all alone up there!” Martin says. “I felt bad for her. And I mean, it can hurt to have another ally, right?”

“I should go down and talk to her,” Melanie says.

“Why, because you’ve got dibs on killing Elias?” Gerry asks.

“Exactly!” Melanie pauses. “So, is she, like, going to live down there now, or…”

“She definitely needs a place to stay,” Gerry agrees. “Thing is, she’s not so sure she can be in the sun anymore. At all. Someone could probably drive her to the church in Hither Green, but I’m not sure if that’s a great place to sleep.”

“She can stay with me,” Melanie says. She’s already walking towards the trapdoor. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Georgie, anyways. Might not even notice the difference.”

“You will,” Gerry tells her. Melanie rolls her eyes.

“If she can’t go out in the day, that limits our movements,” Basira says quietly. “If we’re doing anything… she’ll have to be close by.”

“We have Helen,” Melanie says. Gerry hadn’t realized Helen had been so involved in Archive affairs. Not a surprise, really. She did have a life besides eating and hanging out with him.

“And you trust her?” Basira asks. Melanie considers this for a moment, and eyes Daisy warily.

“I think so, yeah,” Melanie says. “At least with her, you know where you stand.”

Melanie opens the trapdoor, then frowns.

“Tim?” she says. “Don’t—don’t use me as an excuse. I got better because I was given the chance to. I really don’t know who I’d be, if I’d been dealing with it for _years.”_

Basira opens her mouth to say something in response, but Melanie shakes her head.

“I don’t know Daisy,” Melanie says. “And that means, I don’t know what she’s done. So I can’t tell you you made the right choice or anything. I’m glad she’s not suffering, but it’s not my call, you know? But I think…”

Melanie looks at Jon, then winces.

“I just don’t think anyone should be forced to deal with someone who’s hurt them,” Melanie says. “And we’re dealing with too much to keep hurting each other on top of all that. So whatever we all decide, let’s just keep that in mind, alright?”

With that, she climbs down the trapdoor and shuts it behind her.

“I’d be careful around spiders now,” Gerry warns Basira. “They might start thinking you owe them.”

“That’s it?” Basira asks. “You’re not going to lecture me about how badly I screwed up?”

“You know her better than any of us,” Gerry says. “You know what you’ve done.”

“I just wanted to save my friend,” Basira says and oh, Gerry thinks she really might cry this time. “The one who never misses an episode of _The Archers._ The one who keeps her cool, no matter how much I’m freaking out, and invites me drinking. Who buys me soup when I’m sick, even if she never stays long. The one I feel so safe around that sometimes I forget how badly she scares everyone else.”

Daisy puts her hand on Basira’s shoulder. Basira gives her a look of surprise and wipes her eyes.

“You were all I had,” Basira tells her. “I had friends before I got Sectioned, you know? G-d, I was—I used to call my parents once a week, just to check in. No one likes having a kid with such a dangerous job, no matter how proud they say they are. But then… Not much you can say when you’re Sectioned. Not many people who understand. I never really thought of the other officers as a team or anything, but…”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says.

“What for?” Basira asks.

“That I was the only thing the world gave you,” Daisy says.

Basira shrugs. She doesn’t want to let this be a big deal. That small bit of emotional honesty is all she’s willing to give. Basira turns back towards the chair where her spidersilked scarf lays.

“We should probably do something about that,” she says.

“Probably isn’t too safe to keep in the Archives,” Gerry agrees. “Might attract some unwanted attention. I’ll help you hide it, if you need me, just… not right now, alright? Think I’ve earned a bit of rest.”

Basira gives Gerry a slow nod.

“You can take the crystals,” she says. “I probably don’t need them. Just don’t touch the arrow.”

“Cool.” Gerry’s not sure what he’d do with them, but they do look nice, so he appreciates the offer. “Thanks.”

Basira doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns back to Daisy.

“You’ve still got some dirt on you,” she says. “We should go home. Get you to a shower.”

No one stops them from leaving, but Jon’s so relieved to see them leave he almost falls over, slumping against Martin with a sigh.

“I’m gonna talk with Tim for a bit,” Gerry says, once they’re gone. He grabs Tim’s arm and leads him away from Jon and Martin. They both look like they could use some time alone. Gerry’s sure Jon doesn’t need them to witness the breakdown he’s clearly having.

“Yeah,” Martin says, clearly distracted. He’s still running his hands through Jon’s hair. “Don’t go too far.”

Gerry nods. He leads Tim to the steps just outside the Archives door and sits down on the stairs nearby. Tim hesitates for a moment and sits with him.

“So,” Gerry says. “Got a little weird in there.”

“Yeah,” Tim says.

“You got a little weird, too,” Gerry says.

Tim looks down.

“I could see the way she justified all of it to herself,” he says. “I couldn’t stand it. I guess I just wanted her to know that it didn’t matter. That if what she did all her life was hurt people the same way she hurt Jon, then she’d have to spend the rest of her life making up for it.”

Gerry opens his mouth to respond, but Tim beats him to it.

“I can’t hear you.”

“What?” Gerry asks, a bit stupidly.

“I mean, I can kind of hear you _now,_ but after the blast, I couldn’t understand anything,” Tim continues. “My ears were ringing, and everything sounded so faded and far away, and my head hurt too much to make sense of everything, and I just…”

“You needed to know,” Gerry says, wondering if they should still be talking out loud. Should he ask if Tim wanted to switch this conversation to text? Gerry knew some BSL, and had learned a few American signs with Kira, but he doubted Tim would find any of that useful. He should have prepared more for this conversation. Knowing Tim had probably lost hearing was one thing, but him describing it as though his world was without sound was another.

“I think it just taught me how to lip read properly,” Tim says. “I hear it’s actually supposed to be kind of hard to pick up. I mean, it’s not _normal_ lipreading, obviously—but it’s still not accurate _._ Keep on forgetting how bad it is ‘til I’ve got to talk to strangers. And now it’s giving me more information. _Bad_ information. I don’t want to know what someone was thinking while they were talking to me, or what they wanted to say, or even what they were planning on telling me, eventually. I want to know what they actually _said.”_

“I didn’t realize,” Gerry says.

“You always say what you mean,” Tim tells him. “It’s a relief, honestly. It’s hard enough to pick through everyone else’s layers. At least Jon I know well enough that it’s not too weird, but… Talking hasn’t been easy.”

Tim sighs.

“I don’t even really remember when it started,” he admits. “Couldn’t have been too long after the explosion, I guess, but that’s still a pretty big range of time. I just—I remember being so _frustrated_ with myself with how little I could understand. Pissed off the doctor, too. He wanted to get it over with and get me checked out, and my head was ringing too much to even think about arguing, and… I don’t know. I just—I’ve never liked feeling left out.”

That’s not the full story. Gerry knows Tim well enough to understand that much. It’s not that Tim doesn’t like feeling left out, it’s that he hates the thought of being without people. Hates the thought of a conversation just outside his reach. It’s hard to ask for accommodations when something’s new, especially when it’s so sudden. Did anyone in the Archives even _know_ sign language? Would they even have time to learn? The stress of working at the Institute wasn’t the best environment to learn anything in, much less a whole new language in.

“It was hell trying to piece together everything everyone was saying in the tunnels, but I didn’t want to think about what that meant for me,” Tim adds. “I figured if Jon hadn’t lost any hearing, then why would I? And if things sounded a little muffled, well, that didn’t mean it was _permanent._ Except things don’t really just sound ‘a bit’ quieter. But I brushed it off, because I still had some way of getting by, even if it clearly wasn’t working as well as it should. Most it really gives me is enough to connect a few dots and pretend I know what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerry says. He reaches out to grab Tim’s hand. The cast on his arm should be coming off in a few days. He doesn’t blame Tim for hoping that his other injuries would heal as well. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Didn’t see the point in seeing anyone about it,” Tim mutters. He rubs Gerry’s hand with his thumb. “I already fucked up when I gave myself some evil lipreading skills. That’s not really something you can just _stop._ And sure, getting a pair of actual hearing aids might help, but if they do, what was the point in doing this to myself in the first place? Why even bother when I’ve already started feeding it?”

“Because you didn’t hear your phone,” Gerry says. Tim looks down.

“I’ve never even recorded a statement,” he says. “Not a real one. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You didn’t,” Gerry says. He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. You could be an avatar of the Eye without statements, of course, but that wasn’t supposed to happen at the Institute. Elias didn’t need underlings who weren't dependent on his research.

“I tried, once,” Tim continues. “I think it might’ve been about the Dark, actually. But I couldn’t do it. Had to ask Melanie to record it for me. It just—it felt so _wrong._ So when you told me that I—that I might be… _you know._ It was so easy to avoid asking questions. I thought that meant I was safe.”

Tim squeezes Gerry’s hand. He keeps looking at his shoes.

“But I guess that’s the point, huh?” Tim adds. “We’re never safe. Not from the Eye, and or from our friends. I get why you didn’t want to come back here. I’m sorry I made you.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Gerry says. He kisses Tim’s hand, but Tim barely acknowledges the gesture.

“I was out when Prentiss attacked, too,” he says suddenly. “Everyone else was holed up in one of the rooms, but I couldn’t hear them through the door. Sasha—she came out to get me. I didn’t think I’d miss something so big again, but apparently…”

Tim shakes his head.

“At least you were there,” he says. “Thanks for sticking around. I know you don’t like Basira.”

“She needed help,” Gerry says. “And you still got here in time to offer yours.”

“I shouldn’t have been so stupid about this,” Tim says.

“You haven’t been,” Gerry tells him.

“I _have,”_ Tim argues. “It’s just, I didn’t like the idea of having to go to a doctor and say, ‘Hey! Funny story, but I blew myself up about two months ago, and I’m no expert, but I _think_ that may have had some lasting damage.’”

Tim looks up at Gerry to give him a lopsided smile.

“Guess I was just afraid of all the questions,” he admits. “Dealing with the scars from Prentiss was bad enough.”

Gerry opens his mouth to give some words of comfort when a thought occurs to him.

“Basira said her ears were ringing, too.”

Tim places his head in his lap.

“I should have asked,” he says. “We could have talked about this. But… I mean, maybe it’s for the best we didn’t. Basira and I aren’t really _friends,_ and we definitely aren’t going to be, after I tore into Daisy, but… Honestly, I… I don’t think I trust them. No one really listened to me the first time, and that… it still hurts, I guess.”

Gerry rubs Tim’s back.

“Martin took Jon’s side,” Tim says. “Pretty sure it’s just because his breakdown was more obvious. Probably thought out of the two of us, Jon was the only one going to get himself hurt. Or maybe he just didn’t see why I couldn’t brush it off like he had. Guess it’s just hard to trust that they really know me.”

Of course it was. Tim had come back from the Circus injured, but Gerry had been so busy worrying about his arm and his new shield of knowing that he hadn’t spared a moment to think about the usual scars that came from the Stranger. Basira didn’t trust any of them, either. Hadn’t she just said that? The only person she knew was herself. And Daisy, maybe, but Gerry thinks she might have just seen the woman as an extension of that self. Jon… well, all the new scars he had gotten recently definitely didn’t help him feel at home in his body. There was probably more than just that, honestly, but he hadn’t spoken to Jon one-on-one in a while. Unless Tim had protected him from that, too. But even if Tim protected him, he still didn’t trust him. Hadn’t even really spoken to either of them, honestly, not from what Gerry could tell. When they all first got back to work after the Unknowing, Jon tried to make amends, and Tim let him. But it was hard to care about others in this building. Melanie had said so, too, didn’t she? None of them were back to where they used to be. And they’d never be able to get there. Not when they still had to worry Peter. He’d been running the Institute for almost two months now, and had succeeded in keeping everyone apart for at least half of that time. Even if they finally managed to become kind of a team, the stress of knowing he must have _something_ planned hadn’t faded. They’d never have the chance to heal in this place, not when it was run by people like Peter, but there was only so much Gerry could do about that aside from provide Tim a home free of fog. This was why Gerry had been so hesitant to involve himself in their affairs. There was an air of desperation to the Archives that would always infect you, no matter how hard you pushed against it, either with crabs in a bucket, or outside dangers leaking in. Melanie had told them not to fight each other, but it wasn’t that simple. Giving up a part of your soul is never anyone’s first choice. Basira saved Daisy because it was easier for her to see a world where they were doomed together than to move on without her. Gerry doubted she’d fall to the Buried, but he couldn’t deny that the hole she was digging for himself was deep. Deep enough for Tim to fall in, too, if he wasn’t careful. Maybe even deep enough for Gerry. G-d. He really thought he was done with this.

“They should have been there for you,” Gerry says. He’s not sure Tim hears him, so Gerry repeats himself. Tim just shrugs.

“Martin was just trying to keep the peace,” Tim says. “He had the right idea, honestly, it’s just—he never even asked me if I was doing okay, you know? Not really. He just wanted to know about Jon. I think Melanie might’ve been the only one who cared enough to ask, and she barely knew what was wrong. All she knew was that I kept blowing up at her. Didn’t expect her to forgive me for that.”

Tim lifts his head.

“She just wanted to know I wasn’t angry at her because she was new,” he says. “Or because she was the only woman in the office. Told her it wasn’t a problem with her, but me. So she gave me my space. Had no idea what was going on, but she was still the only one who _listened.”_

“She’s a good person,” Gerry agrees. Tim shrugs. That wasn’t the point, Gerry knew. The point was, they hadn’t been _friends._ Tim’s actual friends hadn’t offered him anything, but a stranger had. His actual friend had let him go months thinking a woman he loved was still alive. Had left for weeks with no explanation, leaving behind only a corpse of an unknown man and so many questions. His actual friends had watched him reach out, time and again, only to be told he wasn’t being considerate of the one having the _real_ breakdown. Gerry wonders if Martin even knows he has something to apologize for.

Of course Tim was still bitter. Jon had tried to apologize, but that couldn’t cure months of being overlooked. Of being traumatized, and having people who _could_ understand, but hadn’t felt it worth spending the time to. Of being deemed less important. Gerry shouldn’t have told Tim to watch out for Basira. He was already getting far too used to avoiding his own feelings.

“At least Jon’s not stalking my house this time,” Tim says suddenly. Gerry’s hand pauses for a moment before he continues rubbing circles on Tim’s back.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s definitely a positive,” Gerry agrees carefully.

“It just… it’s hard to feel like I know them anymore,” Tim says. “Jon and Martin aren’t the same people they were before, and I’m getting to know Melanie, but I barely know Basira. I couldn’t just… it’s not the easiest thing to talk about. And I mean, we were getting _really_ good at not talking, too. It’s a hard habit to break. But it, uh, helped. That I had you.”

“You always will,” Gerry promises. He moves to lean closer to Tim, but Tim moves back. Gerry and Tim both look at each other for a moment, then laugh. Gerry scooches farther away and closer to the light. “This better?”

“Thanks,” Tim says. “Sorry. I know I’ve been difficult about this.”

“You haven’t been difficult,” Gerry says. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“You didn’t make me ask,” Tim says. “That helped. It’s just… I can’t believe _this_ was the thing that got me, you know? Jon started asking questions because he was framed for _murder_ and needed information, but I didn’t need to _know_ anything. I just needed people. And I _know_ you said there was nothing supernatural when we met up with that guard, but I saw the look in his eyes when he stopped talking. He never meant to give me that much. Guess I should just be glad I couldn’t hear all of it. At least it wasn’t a _complete_ breach of privacy.”

Gerry had heard it all, but it’s not the same. The man had trusted Tim enough to answer questions and in return, Tim had tried to peel him open. G-d, it must have been terrifying. He had seemed so at ease talking to Tim. How much of that had been real and how much was just some ploy of the Eye, to keep him calm and regret it later?

“I didn’t notice,” Gerry admits. He’d been too busy worrying about Tim and his ears. “I just part of it is just… Things like that are really tailored, I guess. More than you’d expect, honestly. The Archives are usually a bit different than the rest, but the idea is the same. Magnus can’t make everyone like him, but he can at least try and make you all green, even if you’re a different shade. But you’re not an Archivist. I wouldn’t have cared about statements, either. Just because you have some kind of knowing doesn’t mean it’s all for you. You don’t have to want everything, but what you do want, you have to need it bad.”

Gerry had never wanted to know everything. Knowledge had always hurt him more than it had helped. The lessons he had been given as a kid had never been a comfort, just another thing forced upon him. He hadn’t wanted to be in anyone’s line of sight either, not when the only ones watching were his mother and her terrible friends. When he was younger, a part of him had wanted to give himself to the Hunt, just for the chance to be stronger than _something,_ but to mark himself for that would have meant making someone else bleed and in the end, Gerry would always rather find an exit than an opportunity to harm. 

“I would have done the same thing,” he adds. “I mean, I’m not like Helen or anything, but I’m not _human._ Not by your standards. And I haven’t been for a while.”

Tim nods slowly in acknowledgment. He looks back down.

“I don’t regret scaring Daisy,” he says. “I don’t think she’d changed if we just pretend nothing happened, you know? The way she spoke… I was worried that this was it for her. As if her acknowledging that she wanted to kill Jon deserves some kind of pat on the back. Or that she’d spend all her time feeling guilty instead of trying to be better. I hate that. But I don’t want to be someone who scares people. I mean, you heard her! Daisy started killing because she wanted less monsters. And I…”

“No,” Gerry says.

“No?”

“The fears bring out the worst in you, but it’s still _you,”_ Gerry says. “You said it yourself. She made her choices, just like Melanie made her’s. Melanie knew it was her anger. Maybe Daisy didn’t have the same support, but no one made her become a cop. What kind of person realizes they’ve got violent tendencies and then immediately signs up for a job like that? You would never. And you didn’t really _scare_ her. Just made her feel guilty, which, honestly, was probably long overdue.”

“She _saw_ me,” Tim argues. “I saw something in her that I hated, and she _knew._ I didn’t—”

Martin opens the door.

“Oh,” he says. “There you two are. Hey.”

Gerry waves.

“Melanie’s going to hang out in the tunnels till it gets dark,” Martin tells them. “Then she’ll bring Manuela back to her place. Think Manuela might be trying to convert her, but it’s fine. They’re having fun. Jon’s, um, looking for statements about spiderwebs, just in case, well. You know. I told him that Manuela didn’t know who destroyed her ritual, but we should probably deal with that another day. Probably some time she isn’t right under us. Don’t think she’d really go along with our plan if it doesn’t actually benefit _her,_ you know? But, ah. You guys can probably go home.”

“You want me to come back tomorrow?” Gerry asks.

“If you’re not busy,” Martin says.

“I can spare some time,” Gerry tells him. Martin looks relieved. Tim nods his head.

“Sorry for going a little overboard,” he says. Martin winces.

“Jon’s glad you stood up for him,” he says. “But you know you didn’t need to, right? I mean… that coffin really did a number on her. Even if she had tried something, I could have probably taken her.”

“Probably,” Tim agrees. “We’ll figure this out, Martin. Don’t worry.”

For a moment, Martin doesn’t answer, just looks back into the Archives. Probably still worried about Jon, honestly.

“Yeah,” Martin says finally. “Sorry, it’s just—I was hoping today would be _easy,_ you know? We find a few things out about the Dark and come home with the win, but _Basira—”_

Martin cuts himself off.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I should—Jon—I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim. Sorry you had to come back to all of this.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, but Martin’s already shut the door. “Same to you, I guess.”

For a moment, Tim and Gerry do nothing but stare at the closed path.

“Do you want to go watch a movie at my place?” Gerry asks. Tim leans his head on Gerry’s shoulder.

“Sure,” Tim says. “Sounds like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: mentions of police brutality, past death threats, internalized ableism, and the feeling of your emotional wellbeing disregarded
> 
> for anyone wondering, Tim's version of "compelling" is more like. the fear of oversharing. whereas jon's compulsion is just based on the fear of getting found out. also, apologies for anyone who likes daisy. I do not.  
> Up next: a visit to a well-known location


	8. Free Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> statement of annabelle cane, regarding her knowledge on fear, and the creature you will become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 147
> 
> this chapter contains much less focus on police brutality than the last, but it is briefly touched upon, mainly through the fear of the Hunt. Because it can be such a heavy topic, I felt it worth mentioning, though I don't think it warrants an actual content warning.

Basira finds somewhere to hide her ritual before Gerry gets to the Archives. All the details she offers is that it’s “far away,” and Gerry doesn’t push. It’s not his problem.

More importantly, Melanie already loves her new roommate. Manuela tells Melanie she doesn’t need to eat, though she appreciated the donuts, so Melanie doesn’t need to go shopping for her, but she would like the opportunity to use Melanie’s kitchen for a few science experiments. She tells Melanie not to worry about what the experiments will actually be, or what they’ll need. Manuela will find a way. Ominous. Melanie loves it. Melanie also says she thinks Manuela might have died in Norway, but doesn’t elaborate, not that Gerry needs her to. Whatever rations her church prepared for her had to have run out by the time Gerry and Martin found her. It’s not really something Gerry wants to think about, but, well, _damn._ He can’t imagine anyone else in her church having faith like that. He wonders if it’s too late for her to find something new. If there’s anything else that can give her what she lost.

Either way, Manuela’s fine and also, the least of their worries now. Melanie’s going to try to convince Basira to call her parents or something. She really needs some kind of anchor that isn’t Daisy. 

Speaking of, Daisy had been allowed back into the Archives on the condition she kept her distance and stayed quiet. She deserved to know their plan. Elias had screwed her over, too. It wouldn’t be fair if they didn’t offer her the chance to fight back. And she did apologize. Said there was no forgiving what she had done, but she was truly sorry about the harm she had caused. It’s not enough, but it’s more earnest than Gerry had been expecting. So that’s something, at least.

He really doesn’t want to think about Daisy. He still saw her hands as claws, though her bones look bird-brittle. It’s hard to see her as a friend, but it’s just as hard to think of her as an enemy. The Buried had taken so much of her in the two months she’d been its prisoner. Gerry wonders if Kira had been like this, when their tree had first taken them, then feels instantly guilty for making the comparison. He knows, though, that some days, Kira still can’t stand touch, not even from Mae. Some horrors stay with you forever. He wants to say that if anything could make Daisy understand what it’s like to be a victim, it’s something like this, but he’s got no right to assume this is a new experience for her. Pain doesn’t always lead to empathy, after all. Just because you understood what it felt like to hurt didn’t mean you’d stop hurting others. Sometimes, the fear of being a victim turns into something violent, like the desire to become so big and terrifying no one would ever cross you again. Sometimes, there was just no stopping people from getting worse.

Gerry doesn’t know enough about Daisy to say what her path will be.

“I’ve realized something important,” Basira announces suddenly. “We can’t talk about it here.”

She drags them all down to the tunnels. As soon as they all head down, Basira snaps the trapdoor shut and drops a fucking bomb on them.

“I think Jonah is controlling Elias through his eyes,” Basira says, surprisingly calm. “His real body’s probably down here.”

 _“What?”_ Melanie asks.

“Gerry said that if Jonah was body-hopping, there was probably some kind of contract behind it,” Basira says. “And what destroys our contract with the Institute? Removing our eyes. And when I did—Daisy has my eyes now. I think something… transferred, with them.”

“And that means there’s a _corpse_ in the tunnels?” Martin asks, practically shouting in his surprise.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Tim says. Basira turns to look at him.

“You were the one who said Elias hid his weakness down here,” she says. Tim shines his torch at her face. She doesn’t blink. “You said that it was unknowable, but I don’t think that’s the case. If it was unknowable, you wouldn’t have been able to get around like you do. Elias’ problem is he can’t have his eyes down here because his eyes aren’t actually _down here.”_

Basira waits as they all process this information. She watches Tim’s face as understanding slowly dawns on him.

“I think we might be able to save the real Elias,” Basira continues, talking over Jon’s shocked stutters. “When Daisy went into the Buried, it took away her connection to the Hunt. If she couldn’t hear the blood, maybe he won’t be able to reach for his eyes. Including the one on someone else’s face. Might it’ll free us, too. Whatever the reason is we have to keep coming back here, it’s Jonah’s fault. Without him…”

“Was this his ritual?” Jon blurts out. Gerry nudges Tim his direction. “The—Peter’s ritual. He had created his building specifically to inspire loneliness. And—and we know this was built for Jonah’s prison. There was a statement—a doctor—the remains of a dead inmate, completely covered in eyes.”

“But that means…,” Martin says. “That means the tunnels aren’t safe, right? Even if he can’t see us when he’s not down here, he still has power over it, right?”

“This is Smirke’s building,” Gerry reminds him. “You said Leitner could move the walls around with one of his books. Anyone can have power here, just as long as they reach for it.”

“But Jonah knew Smirke,” Jon argues. “Just because everyone can do _something_ here doesn’t mean we can stand up to him, after he’s spent two hundred years making it his place of power.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Basira says. “It’s called the Watcher’s Crown, yeah? So he’s this place’s king. Which means all we’ve got to do is dethrone him.”

“Easier than breaking into a prison, at least,” Melanie says.

“Is it really, though? _”_ Martin asks.

Tim looks confused. Gerry taps his thigh. They’re all talking too fast, so Gerry had started writing notes on his phone, which he hands to Tim. It’s his business whether or not they find out about his hearing, after all, but Gerry’s not about to let him miss the conversation.

“We can’t take his place,” Tim says, once he’s caught up. “If he’s traveling through people’s eyes, that’s what we’ll have to take to kill him. And ruin his ritual, probably. Which could still mean everyone here dies.”

“Also maybe don’t take over an evil research building?” Gerry adds. “Just a thought.”

“Might be helpful,” Basira grumbles. “We don’t know what else is out there.”

“Yeah, but we know whatever they want, it won’t _work,”_ Gerry says. “Manuela was convinced Gertrude sabotaged them. She couldn’t see any other reason why her ritual failed. Even said she thought she saw it working for a moment. No reason her world would be ripped away from her. Unless, of course, it can’t happen.”

“Maybe Smirke had the right idea,” Tim says. He waves his hand. “You know. Balance and all that. Guess they just didn’t have everything they needed to bring it all the way through.”

Gerry turns to face Jon so quickly his hair smacks into Tim’s face.

“Babe,” Tim says.

“How many scars do you have?” Gerry demands. “The Circus—you said you met with the Desolation, too. And the Vast.”

Jon looks at Gerry, wide-eyed. He glances at Daisy, then back at Gerry.

“Just… well, Prentiss, obvious,” Jon says. “And… the scar around my neck. Michael, ah, stabbed me some time ago as well.”

“There’s another,” Gerry says.

“Before my time at the Institute,” Jon says. “I read a book about a spider.”

 _“Oh,”_ Martin says. Gerry just nods.

“Thank you,” he says. “And that’s seven. Eight, with the Eye. Probably would be nine if Lukas got his way and made you go to Norway. We’ve got the Coffin, too. If things went bad, that could be number 10. And if Melanie had—well, my point is, that’s a lot of marks. And with Lukas in the Archives…”

“All you’re missing is Flesh and End,” Tim adds. Gerry’s close enough and speaking clearly enough he has no problem following along. “And considering Elias sent us to blow up a building…”

“Jonah’s ritual needs an Archivist,” Jon mumbles. He looks down. “Of course. No one else would be so foolish.”

“But you weren’t,” Martin tells him. “You didn’t insist on coming to Norway. And Melanie—”

“I would never,” Melanie says, but the flash of guilt in her eyes tells Gerry that the bullet might have.

“Right!” Martin says. “And no one’s going into the Coffin. Well, no one but Elias. And I won’t let you die.”

Jon responds with a frantic laugh.

“I _won’t,”_ Martin says stubbornly.

“And what’s to stop someone else from trying?” Jon demands. “Even if we stop Elias, we can’t prevent his knowledge from becoming, well, _known._ The world could still end without him.”

“No offense,” Gerry says. “But I don’t think that should be our problem.”

“I think I’m with Gerry,” Melanie says. “I don’t want to spend my life waiting for disaster to strike. We can’t think like that. If we start, we’ll never end up burning down this place. And we’re not—you can’t be a good person and work here. People weren’t _meant_ to hear this many stories of how people died, or tear their trauma out of them. This place doesn’t help people, Jon. It wasn’t your fault, but giving my statement only made things worse for me. I don’t know if I’d have gone to India if I wasn’t dreaming of Sarah every night.”

“Melanie, I’m so—” Jon begins.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “Really, I don’t blame you. But just because we’re using the statements we’ve found to stop something doesn’t mean we’re doing some kind of _service._ And honestly, we shouldn’t have to. I’m going to ask Georgie out, but I can’t do that while I’m working here. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I don’t know who’ll come after me if we keep getting involved in this shit, but I’m not about to let her get hurt because I couldn’t quit getting involved in someone else’s problem.”

“I… didn’t realize you were so close,” Jon says. “I suppose that explains, ah, some of our previous conversations.”

Melanie laughs.

“She’s the love of my life, Jon,” she tells him. “If I have to choose between her or this place, I’m going to choose her. This place brings out the worst in me, bullet or no bullet. And if we keep looking for rituals to stop, it’ll just be the same thing under a different name. Georgie deserves to see me at more than just my worst. I’m not going to be the thing that brings her down.”

Huh. So _that’s_ why people went to therapy.

“The others probably won’t think of it,” Gerry adds. “Avatars are selfish people. They don’t want to share their apocalypse. If it’s not them and only them, it’s not worth doing.”

Jon doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway.

“And what of Elias?” he asks. “The real one, I mean. If tossing Jonah’s body into the Coffin doesn’t work, what will we do with him?”

“I can take him,” Daisy says.

Everyone turns to look at her. Gerry’s pretty sure they, like he, had forgotten she was watching.

“He’s in a prison,” Jon tells him.

“I can get him out,” Daisy says. “Or we let slip we’re planning something and he breaks out himself. Saves us the trouble of dragging him to the Institute, at least.”

“It’s dangerous,” Jon argues. “Lukas will already try and stop us. We don’t need another variable.”

“Especially not one who knows how to use a gun!” Martin agrees. “Which, uh, just for the record, I am definitely including you as.”

“Just get some vests,” Daisy shrugs. “Not like it’s hard.”

“There’s one more thing, though,” Gerry says. He’s not sure how much he wants to think about how confident Daisy seems that she could get Elias out of prison. “You forgot about the Web.”

“Whatever the Web wants of me, I think this takes priority,” Jon says.

“Not _you,”_ Gerry says. “Basira and Daisy. We have no idea what they can do now, or how much more control they’ve given the spiders over their bodies. I don’t want this to fail because something convinced you there was another way.”

“I want Elias gone as much as you do,” Basira argues. “More, probably. I’m trapped here, too. I won’t mess this up.”

“Not on purpose, yeah,” Gerry says. “I’m not saying you can’t come along or anything, but we’ve got to think of everything. Jonah has had two hundred years to think of a ritual. We’ve only been really planning this out for like a month. We can’t rush into this. We don’t even know how many people he’s got working with him. It might not just be Peter.”

“I could…” Basira hesitates. “We could go to that house on Hilltop Road. It’s part of the Web, isn’t it? And Agnes used to live there. Doubt she kept a diary, but there’s probably something.”

“I’ll come with you,” Melanie offers.

“You don’t want me to come along,” Daisy says. It’s not really a question.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea,” Gerry agrees. “You’ve—you know what the plan is, right? Maybe try and figure out something for Manuela to do.”

Daisy gives a short nod.

“I mean, Tim did say there was something blocking him from finding the center, right?” Martin says. “Would Manuela be able to find it?”

“Might not work like that,” Gerry says. “Problem is, I don’t know _how_ Jonah’s hiding from us. If it’s part of the Eye—and it probably is, if he did some kind of ritual down here—then it’s really going to hurt her to get too close. Guess the Dark’s not so useful when you don’t need to sneak into a prison.”

“Manuela’s got plenty of talents,” Melanie insists. “We’ve still got to worry about Lukas, and blowing this place up. Even if she can’t sneak us by Peter, she’s still got a first in physics.”

“Does being a physicist mean you know how to make bombs?” Gerry asks. Melanie shrugs.

“I’m just saying, she’s a smart woman,” she says.

“A few members of her church might still be in jail,” Basira says. “Might be best we don’t get her too close to a prison.”

“What, so breaking out Elias is one thing, but letting out a few cultists is too much?” Tim asks. “I’m joking. That’s not a can of worms I want to open, either.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets,” Gerry says. “If she asks about her church, I’m going to tell her. Even if it does cause some problems for us.”

“They might’ve gotten out,” Basira says. “Don’t think we ever charged them with anything official.”

“Then why didn’t they go find Manuela?” Melanie asks.

No one answers her. There’s nothing to say, really, other than the obvious; that being in the dark made it easy to forget someone was there with you. They should have been looking out for her. If they cared, they would have. Guess there’s not much use for a priestess when the church is gone.

“So,” Martin says suddenly. “Hey, Daisy, how long do you think it’d take to get enough explosives to take this building down?”

“Depends,” Daisy says. “I’ll get back to you in a week.”

She sounds pretty confident it won’t be an issue.

“We might not need too much,” Tim says. “There’s still some stuff stuck in the walls. Don’t know how potent it is, though. Do explosions expire?”

“Not that quickly.”

“We’ll still have to find a way to get everyone out of the Institute,” Martin says. “I could probably fake an emergency. I mean, I’ve already been sending out emails for Peter. He might not even notice.”

“It might be better if he does,” Basira says. “He’d tell Elias, wouldn’t he?”

“No idea,” Martin admits. “I mean, there’s no way we’d be lucky enough to avoid both of them, and I know that’s what we should be hoping for, but…”

“You want to kill him,” Gerry says.

“Not _kill,”_ Martin protests. “I just… think maybe it’s about time he gets what he deserves, that’s all.”

“Hey, if Melanie gets to kill Elias, I think you get to off Peter Lukas,” Tim says. “It’s only fair.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Melanie nods.

“I can!” Jon exclaims. Martin snorts and kisses his hand.

“Don’t worry,” Martin says. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

Martin’s going to spend the next few days going through Lonely statements to prepare for any Lukas showdown. Jon hasn’t found too much on the Web, just that it seems whatever it wants, it gets. Basira says that they should wait to make any definite plans until Daisy heals. Two months trapped in dirt does not leave you with a comfortable body, after all. Basira thinks they might go to a doctor, just to be safe. Gerry thinks that’s for the best. Basira and Daisy are the only one of them who actually really know how to fight. Even if he doesn’t want either of them around, the fact that they’re ready to help means they should be ready at full capacity.

“Basira,” Tim says, once Martin and Jon vanish into Document Storage. “What would you have done if this hadn’t worked?”

“Hmm?”

“With Daisy,” he clarifies. “I mean, it was a risky move. You had no proof it’d work.”

“Dunno,” Basira shrugs. “Not much reason to think about that now, is there?”

“So you’re saying you had no back-up plan?” Gerry asks. “You just went in hoping for the best?”

“Of course not,” Basira snorts. She hesitates. “I didn’t think it would end this well, actually.”

 _“Really?”_ Tim asks. “What were you expecting that makes all of _this_ look good?”

“I thought it would kill me,” Basira replies, the answer falling off her lips a bit too easily. “A part of me hoped it would. I don’t know how you all can just _move on_ like it’s nothing. I mean, I’m not _like_ you. I didn’t blow up my enemies, or have a partner to keep my mind off of everything. I went into that building because someone told me to. And I guess I’m going to help destroy this one for the same reason.”

“And Daisy changes that?” Gerry asks. Basira bites her lip.

“No,” she admits. “Or—maybe, I don’t know. The Coffin changed her. She says she doesn’t want to be who she was, but…”

Basira sighs.

“So far, we’re not really doing anything different,” she admits. “Still just acting as a pair of bodyguards so your lot doesn’t get eaten alive.”

“You chose not to go to Norway with us,” Gerry reminds her. “Martin would have let you come with us. He thinks you know more about the Dark than him. Not our fault you thought this was more important.”

“That’s not…” Basire begins. “I just needed to make sure she was safe. I didn’t realize how badly it would affect you guys.”

“Basira, she’s threatened all of us.”

“I’ve seen how she talks to witnesses,” Basira says, voice suddenly hard. “I know what she’s like.”

Tim winces.

“Was there anyone you ever looked after, Basira?” he asks. “Because it’s starting to sound like you’ve been spending your time making excuses for her.”

Basira frowns and looks away. She doesn’t seem to realize that all this means is Tim won’t hear her excuses.

“She was the only one I could trust wouldn’t die,” Basira says. “My other partners… they’re gone. But she survived.”

 _“Survived_ isn’t really a word most people use to describe a predator,” Gerry tells her. “You can’t depend on someone just because everyone else is bleeding, not when they’re the one drawing blood.”

“You don’t get it,” Basira says. 

“You think I don’t know what a monster looks like?” Gerry laughs.

“You’re making assumptions,” Basira insists. “Daisy’s _different._ Maybe you think you’re the expert on stuff like this, but you don’t know her. Or me. But I can tell you right now that we’re fine. You just don’t understand.”

Gerry clenches his teeth.

“I guess I don’t,” he agrees. “Because I can’t imagine trusting any beast insisting that she _cared_ for me.”

How dare she claim to be unknown to him, of all people. How dare she rub that in his face. Everyone who had ever worked in the Archives knew who he was. His reputation preceded him, but her’s did, too. Did any of the statements ever mention how he would flinch at her touch? Did they know he had always thought the measures of burnt flesh was a small price to pay for a moment’s rest? Gerry knew monsters. He had spent so much of his life trying to escape from one. Wasn’t that enough? What more did she need to know? Basira is human. Soft. A rabbit standing stock still in the face of a lion. Gerry knows how this story ends.

Only, no, that’s not right, is it? The rabbit was always someone else. She was the vulture hanging overhead. The one who waited for the terrible deed to be done. The one who shook her head because, oh, what a shame it was, that some poor little rabbit had been so viciously undone, but honestly, Gerard, what was she to do? The lion would be fed whether she watches the meal or not. At least now, the beast is sated. At least now, it won’t hurt _them._

“I know Daisy,” Basira tells him. “I always have. I know where I stand with her.”

“Yeah,” Gerry says. There was no use arguing with vultures. He had learned that lesson well enough. “I’m sure you do.”

Gerry’s putting off replying to an email.

He sees it in the morning, before he heads off to Hilltop Road, and finds that he can’t separate the two in his mind, even though Tim had already _told_ him that one of his friends had liked his art. 

Maybe that’s why he’s going with Melanie and Basira instead of dealing with that. He didn’t really _want_ to come with them, but he also doesn’t want Melanie to go in alone, and going with Basira is even worse. Melanie insists she’ll be fine and reminds Gerry that there’s other people she can ask to tag along if he’s uncomfortable and, yeah, maybe, but how would he know for sure she was safe? At least Gerry knew that if the Hunt was in Basira, she’d go after _him,_ and not Melanie. He’d had plenty of experience with police in the past, and very few of those encounters had been pleasant. If she was any kind of Hunter at all, she’d be able to taste his fear. The good thing was, a Hunter’s delight in blood made them predictable. Gerry knew where on his body someone would attack first, though he can’t say the same for Melanie. It’s not that he’s trying to say better him than her, but he knows how to be bait better than he knows how to save people.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen, though. All the hypotheticals running through his mind are almost certainly going to stay as just an unlikely possibility. A Hunter’s shift is usually subtle enough that he can see it coming. And if he doesn’t… well, he’s sure Melanie will help him before it gets too bad.

Anyway, he’d always been a bit curious about the house. Never went in, of course, but there’s been talk enough about it to make him wonder. Maybe that’s something he should be suspicious of. Curiosity and cobwebs didn’t mix kindly.

The art that had caught Tim’s friend’s eye had been something Gerry drew while in America. The one time he had showed off Michael’s favorite trick of turning his cigarettes into something without carcinogens, Michael had turned the smoke into stars. There’d been something about that moment that seemed worth remembering, so Gerry had sketched it out and colored it with pencils. Tim had liked the spiral constellation Gerry had drawn enough to make it the lock screen on his phone. And coincidentally, one of his friends was repping a book about a kid looking for a shooting star.

To Gerry, this sounds a lot like luck, but Tim tells him that many things about getting a job in publishing came down to that, and it was rarely based in something supernatural. 

Helen thinks he should stop worrying about it. She thinks he should take the job, too. 

It’s a little surprising to see her pop into his flat just to say so, but she’s always so much clearer about her intentions than Michael. She tells him that his involvement had helped make her who she is now, and that she refuses to let him stunt his own growth.

And besides, she adds. Stars had been humanity’s first attempt at navigation. People have used the sky to tell time, to track the seasons, and predict the future. The constellations were nothing more than a map of human knowledge. Maybe _that_ was Gerry’s sign. _Maretta the Star-Catcher_ would be a book about a child making her way through the unknown land of the night sky, and what was more Beholding then an intrepid explorer?

Someone who actually knows what they’re doing, Tim says.

They’re both probably right, but Gerry doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, he’s going to make his way through the terrible building Agnes once called home.

“It’s so _old,”_ Melanie says. “It feels haunted.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Gerry tells her. “They don’t let floorboards get this creaky unless there’s a ghost around somewhere.”

Melanie snorts.

“I should have done a Ghost Hunt episode about this place,” she says. “G-d, just—I mean, look at the cobwebs!”

Gerry tests a floorboard with his cane and is gifted with another loud creak.

“I’m getting the sense Agnes didn’t put too much work into home repair,” he says.

“It’s not like… too much, is it?” Melanie asks. 

Gerry makes a face in response. He’s not sure how to tell her he’s fine, really, but there’s something about that old staircase that makes him hesitate, especially after making it up the hill which, honestly, was his first mistake. Even with his cane to save him, the steps are a bit steep, and the warped floor isn’t making things any easier. Basira’s already climbed up and left them behind. 

Melanie pulls out her phone. 

“Alright everybody,” Melanie says. He’s not sure if she’s recording or just pretending to. Either way, she’s clearly dedicated to the joke and does a proper narrator voice for him. “Looks like it's finally time for the first episode of the all new Ghost Hunt UK. Today’s topic: haunted house accessibility! Is this place spooky, or just a plain nightmare? Our guest host this week is Gerry Delano, master of the dark arts and certified expert on all things spooky. So tell me, Gerry—how’s this place measure up?”

Gerry pauses.

“Giving this a four out of ten,” he says, taking a thoughtful sweep of the area. “Cobwebs are a nice touch, but not when it means you have to spend your time crouching under it. Bit too warm, too. Fun change of pace from cold spots, but temperature changes don’t mix well with POTS. And honestly, I just don’t want a haunted house that makes me sweat. Also, I get that there’s probably hundreds of stories about this place, and I’m sure those are great, but I can’t say the real thing measures up.”

“And those _stairs,”_ Melanie agrees, nodding both her head and her phone. “It’s like, who are you trying to impress? All the dead orphans living in the walls?”

That makes Basira pause. She peaks her head out from the second floor.

“If they’re _dead,_ how are they _living_ anywhere?” she asks.

“With great difficulty,” Gerry informs her seriously. Basira rolls her eyes, then frowns. When she walks back down, there’s a piece of paper covered in spiderwebs in her hands.

“What’s wrong?” Melanie asks.

“It’s a statement,” Basira says. Her hands tremble. “It’s—it says: for Basira Hussain, one half of Seeker and Stone.”

There’s nothing Gerry can say to that. He had told her, hadn’t he? There were consequences to aligning yourself with monsters.

“But I’m not…” Basira says. She looks at Gerry. If she’s hoping he’ll understand, she’s placed her faith in the wrong person, but the desperation in her eyes begs him to offer some comfort. “I never… this isn’t what I meant. I know I said I’d do anything to get her back, but…”

“Don’t read it,” Gerry says. He snatches the paper out of her hand. “You don’t need her getting in your head. There’s still more to explore. We can deal with the lies later.”

Basira responds with a shaky nod. She pulls out a tape recorder.

“This was with it,” she says. The tape clicks on and Jon’s voice fills the room, talking about some kind of anglerfish. Gerry turns the tape off.

“Guess they think you’ve gotten pretty good at fishing,” he says.

**Statement of Annabelle Cane**

Regarding her history and observations of the world

Free will is a funny thing, isn’t it, Basira? Can I call you Basira, or would you prefer Constable Hussain? Detective, maybe?

I think I’m going to call you Basira.

Such a strange concept, woven from a thousand different ignorances and experiences, a faculty we only ever truly ascribe to ourselves, and—I suppose, to our g-d.

With any other animal, we talk about instinct, we talk about training; perhaps, if we have spent enough time with them, we talk about personality. But we never talk about _choice_. We never look at a dog chasing wildly after a thrown ball and think “What an odd decision that dog has made.”

I won’t bore you with a lecture. If I tell you free will doesn’t exist, I’m sure you’ll just roll your eyes. The _why_ something gets done doesn’t matter, does it? The results do. You’re not someone who spends your time wondering why a dog doesn’t bark at the postman. You’d just think about all the peace and quiet you’re getting instead. 

Still, the idea of a dog _choosing_ anything feels unnatural. Some people would claim a dog can’t choose anything. That every decision it makes is written into its DNA.

You’ve made a lot of interesting choices lately, haven’t you? Not that I’m judging, of course. I know how hard this has been for you. You only wanted the best for your friends, I understand. You’ve spent your life trying to help people. And we both know it wouldn’t have been right to leave Daisy in that Coffin. Not _fair._

Did you know, scans show that decisions are made by your brain long before your conscious mind even has a chance to register them? Most of one’s life is simply spent looking back and convincing yourself that you chose deliberately to act as you did. Do you still think nothing of the dog, Basira? Have you started wondering what’ll make it bark? Or will you simply insist that I’ve muzzled it?

Have you ever read _War and Peace_? 

I know, I know. 

I had to read an extract for a literature class once, ended up reading the whole thing.

I used to be quite the avid reader. So invested, not just in the pursuit of knowledge, but interested in watching the story come to life before my very eyes. My siblings used to tease me about it, actually. As soon as I opened a page of a book, I was practically lost to the world. The subject almost didn’t matter; my curiosity demanded knowledge of all things.

I was actually very interested in numerology for a few years. It’s such an interesting form of divination, in my opinion. How much of you is controlled by numbers? Would you have been different, had you been born on a different day, at a different time? If your name was a few letters shorter, or spelled a slightly different way?

Despite my interest in divination, I’ve never spent too much time looking into crystals. Still, I think I know them well enough to recognize the seeker crystal around your neck.

That’s such another interesting quirk of humanity, isn’t it? The idea that an object being a certain shape may increase its power.

I suppose an arrow makes some sense, at least. Some object of power, something to amplify your desires, and to point you towards a new beginning, or to help place you on the path of discovery. Are you still looking for something, Basira? Did your ritual not complete you in the way you had hoped it would?

It’s alright. I understand. Just because I have accepted my place in this world does not mean all my doubts have faded. Sometimes, even I wonder who I could have been, if I hadn’t been chosen for this. Would I have less regrets, or more? Would I still find comfort in the puppetry of the universe?

But I suppose there’s no use wondering what could have been.

In its post-script, Tolstoy muses on the concept of free will, on whether or not _he_ really believes in it. He ultimately decides that if all the millions upon millions of factors that weigh upon our choices were fully and completely known, then all could be foreseen and predetermined.

But, he argues, it is quite impossible for the human mind to comprehend even a fraction of these. And in that vast, dark space of ignorance lies free will.

Free will is ignorance. It’s the name we give to the fact that no one can ever really see everything that controls them.

You knew Jon would read that statement out loud, didn’t you? I’m sure you’ve realized he can’t stop himself halfway through, not even to prevent a coworker from making a potentially life-changing decision. Even if he saw you bring the Coffin down, there is nothing he could have done but watch. 

He makes for a great alibi, though, doesn’t he? So easy to blame. You can tell yourself that you didn’t know. That you wouldn’t have gone through with it if only there had been someone to talk you down. But there’s no need to lie to me, Basira. I’ve been watching you. I know exactly what kind of woman you are.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I have any more control over this situation than you do. Not what you wanted to hear, is it? Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame your decisions on me, either. 

Yes, what happens in the Archives is not completely without my influence, but I can’t say I expected this. _My_ plan involved much less chaos. More… finesse. Oh well. I suppose plan b does have its perks. It’s almost poetic, in its own way.

How much do you know about Breekon and Hope? You’ve looked into them, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ve found countless statements about them in the Archives. The Circus may be hard to identify, but they do get around.

Did Daisy ever tell you she met them? That her first partner was swallowed whole by the coffin that eventually took her as well? That she could hear it call for her, even then? No? Well, I won’t spoil it for you. This is my statement, not her’s. I’m sure you’re close enough now that she’ll tell you the details if you ask.

Still, it’s funny how that goes, isn’t it? It was the case that got her Sectioned. If it hadn’t been for them, she never would have gotten the chance to interview with the Archivist. And that means, she never would have gotten the chance to kill them herself. Time has a funny way of knitting itself into a pattern. You cannot escape what marks you, no matter how much distance you place in between yourself and the terrible thing. I’m sure you know what I mean. I doubt you’ve forgotten about the spider husks you and Daisy discarded.

But I’m getting off track, aren’t I?

Did you know, I’ve always been fond of the two. We all were, I suppose. Yes, they were part of the Circus, but we have all sought their aid at one point or another.

Have you ever wondered where they came from? 

I suppose you’ve never been given a reason to. Strangers exist when someone is killed, and another takes their place. What more is there to know?

Quite a lot, it turns out. Our deliverers have such a long history.

For starters, the pair are much more than what you’ve made them out to be. Calling them Strangers is not an _inaccurate_ description, but there’s always been more to them than that. Breekon and Hope were never feared because they were outsiders _._ No, what frightened everyone was that they knew _exactly_ why they were at your door.

I suppose they’re a fear that’s changed with the times. Modern London has no reason to associate wagons with dead bodies and so, they must remake themselves to fit our new neuroses. Perhaps we do not always fear a knock at our door, but how many of us have been told not to accept candy from a stranger? How many of us have learned to be wary of the strings attached to a gift given by someone who is not quite a friend?

I find that fear is more subtle, now. Their generation was so much louder about what harm they could cause. The deliverymen have always brought death with them, in all its forms, but when you drive a hearse, well, that’s something a bit harder to ignore.

My point is that the first fear Breekon and Hope inspired was not quite the fear of a stranger, but a stranger in a _uniform._ They were the fear of catastrophe made human. The fear of living in a world out of your control. If your loved ones die of plague, who can you blame? You do not know about the insects that spread disease to your village. Or your king, who will be waited upon, hand and foot, if he is stricken down by the same illness. All you know is that there are now men in your village who wish for your death, and will delight in the tears your family will shed. Your loss is their fortune. The more people that die, the more bodies they are paid to collect.

So you close the blinds. Disaster will strike—not because nature wills it, but because these men do. Because they cannot do their job without disaster, and so they must create one, regardless of how many people may suffer as a result.

But I’m getting off-topic. This is not a statement about Breekon and Hope.

I think I’ve waited long enough for my story to be heard, don’t you? It’s time we both dance the steps we’ve been assigned. 

I was born into what most would consider a large family. My father worked constantly, and my mother was overwhelmed, leaving some of the older children to watch over the younger ones. Some rose to this responsibility; others deeply resented it and took no pains to hide the fact.

I was one of the youngest, and it soon became clear to my infant mind that in order to get anywhere, the key was to navigate the baroque family politics in which I found myself.

I became very good at it. I would instigate fights between siblings if I needed them in trouble. If I required sympathy, I would bite myself until I drew blood, and then blame it on my sister Lizzie. I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying.

Of course, I learned many of my skills from my mother, who could wield guilt like a rapier and anger like a scalpel. She never simply screamed at you. She was always aware of exactly what kind of fury or disappointment was needed to make sure you regretted ever catching her attention. She had eight children, yet weaved that life around herself in such a way that she always seemed both the victim of it, yet curiously divorced of any responsibility

In a way, she was a victim, at least of my father. It was clear the man that did not care for engaging with the life where he had trapped his family. At least, not until we were old enough to care for ourselves.

As a child, I couldn’t imagine a life where _I_ was the center of his attention, no matter how much I wished to be, and yet by the time I was to apply to university, he was there to help with scholarships. It’s amazing what a few years can change, isn’t it?

Well, a few years and an attempt to run away from home.

In my childish mind, I was certain that my disappearance would destabilize the entire family unit, allowing me to take my rightful place as the most important child upon my return

An infantile fantasy, perhaps, but one I was keen to realize. I intended to stay away for two days and two nights. I took a backpack and filled it with as much food as I could carry, something barely enough for a decent lunch, my favorite blanket, and the only book I could say belonged to only me: _Five Go Down to the Sea_. And then I left.

Did you know, I’ve never seen the ocean before? I’ve always wanted to, but there’s never been a time in my life where I didn’t live in a city. I planned on forcing my parents to take me after I returned home. In all the fiction I had read, everyone always seemed so happy at the beach. The idea of enjoying some ice cream on the sand seemed almost romantic to me, but of course, it never came to pass. Changed as I am, there’s not much of a chance to enjoy the salty scent of a sea breeze, even if I did leave this city. Sometimes, dreams just don’t come true. 

That’s alright, though. 

I’ve made my peace with it.

I planned out my little adventure for two weeks and decided I would run to an old playground near my house. It wasn’t a well-liked location. There may have been a few children who used it, but it was hardly popular. I think we all knew it was meant more as something to placate the neighborhood than something meant to be enjoyed.

Whatever the cause, it was a shunned place, and sitting on the side of the road above it, casting a thick, angular shadow, was the squat brick structure of the old chip shop.

I’d never seen it open. No one had, as far as I could tell. It was painted a dark blue, that never quite matched any color of sky that was behind it, and had a hand-lettered sign that could still be seen covering much of the bare left hand wall in curling, faded typeface that read “CHIPS.”

The old chip shop had been around longer than I’d been alive, probably longer, and its silent one-story silhouette had always unsettled me. It was only looking back that I realized how few windows it had: Just one, tiny panel of glass either side of the big doors. The rest of the structure was just plain unadorned brickwork.

I don’t really know why I decided to hide there, but you understand by now how little that means. Perhaps deep down, I simply knew it would be unlocked.

Against the vivid red-orange of the sky, the old chip shop seemed almost black, like a fallen obelisk. A light rain began to patter down. Originally, I had assumed I would have hidden in a slide if I saw rain, but it soon became clear the structure would provide me no comfort.

Instead, I ran to the shop, opening the door as quickly and quietly as I could. Inside it was warm and dry, and dust coated everything. I struggled more than once not to sneeze, something I was convinced would somehow alert my family to where I was. So I crawled under one of the counters, and soon enough, sleep had come for me

I awoke to the sound of rhythmic clattering, the noise of wood striking wood in a complex, intricate pattern. I got up, more curious than fearful at that moment, and took few, tentative steps towards it.

The sound seemed to be coming from one of the back rooms, and seeing as how light seeped from only one of the doors, it seemed to me pretty obvious which room contained my answer. So I went inside. A foolish decision, perhaps, but I’d prefer to think of myself as more brave than stupid. What I remember most about this night was a stubborn insistence that I would not let myself be afraid of the unknown.

Inside was a young woman I did not recognize, sat at what I would later learn was an old-fashioned wooden loom. Her eyes and face were sunken, her hands and arms a blur as the machine pressed on. They arced over and through the loom, and I could see much of her inner forearms and legs were covered in tiny holes, small red pinpricks like insect bites.

The woman looked up at me, disinterested, and I saw that the threads of the loom were laced into her skin, all through her track marks, and that dozens of spiders ran up and down those weaving threads and scurried in and out of the holes in her skin.

Her eyes met mine, and traveled upwards towards the ceiling. I followed her gaze for barely five seconds before I fled home, and abandoned my plans to run away entirely.

You do not need to know what I saw that night. Only that it is what engendered in me that terror of spiders which eventually led to my volunteering at Surrey University.

I will simply say that - when a spider reaches a certain size, it is often not entirely made up of _spider_ anymore.

So, yes, I ran home. What else was I to do? I was a frightened child in need of comfort. I won’t say I expected to find that with my family, but I knew no one else who I could turn to.

I had climbed out my window to escape, but made no attempt at subterfuge when I returned. I simply knocked on the door, over and over, begging my family to let me in.

It was my father who finally opened the door. I think he meant to scold me for staying out so late, but when he saw the tears in my eyes, he changed his mind. I did not tell him what I had seen. He never asked. But he held me tight, and promised me that no harm would come to me. For one beautiful moment, I believed him. 

The next morning he was gone before I awoke. Just as he had been, every day before.

Change isn’t something that happens in an instant. He may have decided to become a better parent, but one night with a frightened daughter would not make up for years of neglect.

He did try, though. It took him some time to get there, but by the time I left for university, I had a father who would miss me.

It’s a pity we’ll never see each other again.

My time in that chip shop is what led me to become who I am now, but what could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible?

I felt no loss of control, no puppet strings guided me. And yet, the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear of spiders so acute that I could later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis.

Unless, of course, none of it was intentional. None of it was planned. The Mother is the fear of manipulation and lost control made manifest. So perhaps it is our fear that projects her influence on everything that happens. Perhaps she is no more active than Terminus, simply sitting and reveling in the inevitable cascade of paranoia, as those who hold her in special terror cocoon themselves in red string and theory.

Or perhaps I am simply telling you what you need to hear in order to ensure you behave exactly as the Mother wishes you to.

Perhaps everything I’ve written here is a lie. Perhaps as you read this, I can hear waves. Right now, I could be sitting on a beach, enjoying a snack meant for much warmer weather.

Come back to Hilltop Road once you’ve finished with this nonsense, will you? You and that girl of yours. I believe I’ll have a package for you to deliver.

STATEMENT ENDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think we should take a moment to think about how Annabelle tells jon, whos from a beach town, that her number one trauma is from a day at the beach. Weird way of relating to people, am I right?  
> Also, for the record, everyone just thinks Gerry's showing Tim a meme. You didn't need to know that, but it's the truth
> 
> up next: a break from statements and a visit from a twelve-year-old.


	9. Conversations Not Recorded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> several important conversations lead to Gerry spending time with a twelve-year-old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: a break in the reading for you to return to the problems of reality  
> please see the end notes for cws!

“Don’t know how you can read without the light,” Daisy mutters.

Manuela glares at her.

“Does it even matter to you?” she demands. “Can your beast eyes not see through my obscurity?”

“I can,” Daisy confirms. “Doesn’t mean it’s _easy.”_

“Well, I can’t see anything in the light. So respect my abilities and _tough it out.”_

“You’d think you’d be nicer to the person who stole a kid’s records for you,” Daisy grumbles as Gerry opens the door to Melanie’s flat. Manuela groans at the sudden source of outside light.

“Uh,” Gerry says, quickly shutting the door behind him. “What’s going on here?”

“Manuela wanted me to track down the kid her cult tried to take,” Daisy says. “So I got his school records.”

“He’s such a bad student,” Manuela says mournfully. She squints at the page in front of her and frowns.

“Uh, I’m not an expert, but getting kidnapped probably does put schoolwork a little low on someone’s priorities,” Melanie says.

“We ruined him,” Manuela agrees. She sighs and sets the paper down. “He fears that which I love. We failed to bring him into our fold. And in doing so, we showed him the light.”

“Why him?” Gerry asks. He sits down on the couch next to Manuela. “He’s not the first person you harmed. Probably won’t be the last, either, if you start back up your church.”

“He’s a _child,”_ Manuela says. She hesitates. “I… you’re right. I’ve killed before, but only when necessary. I approved of what Maxwell had planned for him. I won’t deny my part in his suffering. There is no excusing what I have done, especially when so many of my actions have been made without remorse. I believed the sacrifices I made would save this world. But the beast I slew for the feast remains dead. As do every one of the terrified souls whose blood I shed. All my effort amounted to nothing but one beautiful star and one lonely child.”

“So you want to save him,” Basira says. She frowns. “By… stalking him?”

“He would know what I am, if I approached him,” Manuela says. “And I am a stranger. He is a child. As much as I want him to have faith in darkness, I know better than to ask him to place his faith in an unknown woman.”

Basira hums.

“I could introduce you?” she offers. “Or Jon, I guess. He said something about the kid being in an old statement. You could ask him for his mum’s information or something. Only if you _really_ need to talk to him, though. No point in getting a kid wrapped up in, well, any of this.”

“He’s been getting in trouble for trapping kids in dark places,” Daisy says. “Friend of mine started out like that, too.”

“And you have a problem with that?” Gerry asks Manuela. She huffs.

“That’s not _worship,”_ she insists. “It’s just—just bullying! And ruining the darkness for others. It is my duty as Thaumaturge to stop him.”

“I guess I’m down to help a traumatized kid,” Melanie says. She sits down next to Gerry. “Provided it doesn’t involve, you know, kidnapping or anything.”

“I wouldn’t!” Manuela insists.

“You kind of already did,” Gerry reminds her. “But, uh. Before we find some way to sneak this kid some therapy, we should talk about Hilltop Road.”

Daisy sits up. A tape recorder flicks on, then immediately shuts off. Having an avatar of the Dark around sure had its perks.

“Was someone there?” Daisy asks.

“No, nothing like that,” Basira says. She hesitates, then takes a seat next to Daisy. “But there was this woman’s statement. Annabelle Cane. She claims she’s an avatar of the Web. I think she thinks we’re… becoming something. Something like the Breekon and Hope. Or, something close enough to take their place, I guess. She called us Seeker and Stone.”

“Which one am I?” Daisy asks.

“I don’t know. Seeker? You’re the Hunter,” Basira says. She sighs. “I don’t think it really matters who’s who. It’s supposed to be our name together. Maybe that means both names belong to both of us.”

“And what do we do about it?”

“I don’t know!” Basira exclaims. “Annabelle wants to use us as some kind of delivery driver. She didn’t say what we’d be delivering or why, but it can’t be good.”

Daisy considers this.

“When does she want her package delivered?” she asks.

“After we quit the Institute, I guess?” Basira replies. “Does it matter?”

“Do you think she wants something from Artefact Storage?” Melanie asks. “Because I can’t imagine there’ll be much left when we’re done with the place.”

“Maybe she thinks we’ll pick something up on the way out,” Daisy says. “Do you think this means I’m not a Hunter anymore?”

Huh. Now there was a good question.

“I don’t know,” Gerry admits. “Normally, I’d say you’re leaning too far one way to make a switch that quick, but this isn’t really _normal._ I know Gertrude always served the Eye, but she was too tied to the Institute to worship anything else. And Agnes was born to be Desolation. There’s not a lot of wiggle room there.”

Then again, Molina had always said that Agnes had eyes that could look into your soul. That she used to turn heads wherever she went, because even an ignorant human could sense what kind of holy creature she was. And Gerry knew Molina’s words were more than just zealotry. He had met her once. She had made him feel seen. He could understand why that might be worthy of worship.

And of course, everyone knew that Gertrude loved destruction. She claimed to take no pleasure in her job, but Gerry could see she felt some satisfaction in ruining someone else’s hard work. The Lightless Flame definitely believed she was cruel enough for them. She had certainly ruined as many lives. If Elias hadn’t been there to keep tugging her back onto the path of Archivist, who knows where she could have gone?

“I’m tied to the Institute, though, aren’t I?” Basira says. “So I can’t be a Web avatar, or whatever she wants of me.”

“That’s only if working there gives you a title,” Gerry explains. “The Archivist is a job, but it’s also a description of who you’ll _become._ Being an _assistant_ doesn’t mean as much. Anyone can provide assistance, just as long as they’re there when you need them.”

“So, essentially, we’re all trapped here, but Basira and I are too low on the food chain for that to give us any special powers,” Melanie says.

“Basically,” Gerry agrees. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t get anything. It’s just what you do find will probably be more based on the shit you get into then your job title.”

“And having a title—that changes things?” Melanie asks. “I mean, if you start calling me a ghost hunter, I’m not suddenly going to restart my channel.”

“It’s not just a name,” Gerry says. “It’s their _core._ It’s what you are when all of your humanity’s finally stripped away. Without Helen, there’ll still be the door of the Distortion. And even if Jon stops being Jon, he can’t stop watching. Not every title is going to be _the_ title, but…”

“This is us,” Daisy says. “I can tell. It feels right.”

“And _that’s_ why we should be worried,” Gerry agrees, gesturing in her direction. “Seeker and Stone means something to you. Of course it does. She’s already used herself as an anchor. And you’ve already proven your ability to find her, no matter the circumstances.”

“And _seeking_ probably won’t be too different than a hunt,” Daisy says with a frown.

“But it means I could quit, right?” Basira interrupts. “I wouldn’t be part of the Eye anymore, would I?”

 _“Michael_ couldn’t even quit,” Gerry says. “Why do you think it kept coming back? Yeah, it could stay away for pretty long, but it still felt Shelley’s contract tugging at its seams.”

Honestly, it was much more likely that Michael had stopped by more out of habit than anything else, but Basira didn’t need any excuse to give in to whatever had her. But that doesn’t stop the lie from itching in his throat.

“Is that why Helen’s still here?” Melanie asks.

“I think she just likes hanging out, actually,” Gerry says. And also probably had something planned. He’s hoping it’s not anything he needs to worry about.

“So there really is no way to leave,” Basira says. “Except for the ones we already know.”

“I’m sure some people leave,” Gerry says.“But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Basira sighs.

“Annabelle said that marks never really leave you,” she says. “Which I guess makes sense, considering what we know about Jon. But she… I don’t know. The way she phrased it makes me kind of think that it’s not so much about replacing one with another. It’s just about adding more.”

“She called you ‘plan b,’ didn’t she?” Gerry asks. He had read the statement on the ride over. “... Basira, how many entities have you seen? You said something about ‘a man on fire,’ didn’t you?”

“My first sectioned case,” Basira agrees. “Some guy called Molina. I never touched him, but when I slapped my cuffs around his wrist, I could feel how hot he was. Didn’t really see anything else as exciting as that. There were these weird spider husks Daisy and I cleaned up, too, and, well, think you know the rest.”

“Molina?” Gerry asks. “Diego Molina?”

“You know him?”

“We’ve… met. He’s dead now.”

“Oh,” Basira blinks. “Good? I mean, he got bailed out almost immediately after we got him, so I don’t actually know too much about him, but he probably had it coming.”

“That’s seven,” Melanie says. “If we’re including Hunt, I mean. And…”

Melanie looks down.

“You didn’t bite me that hard,” Basira says. “You don’t have to feel sorry about it.”

“That’s _eight,”_ Gerry says. The same amount of marks as Jon. Of course. What was a detective for, if not to examine the horror of the world around her? _“Jesus.”_

“I don’t know if it was enough to count,” Melanie says. “But we did explore some pretty Corruption-filled buildings together. And someone took my knife. I think… whatever Slaughter I have left, it’s all in there. So even if I didn’t bite ‘that hard,’ if anyone wanted to mark someone…”

“What the hell are you three talking about?” Manuela cuts it. Gerry, Melanie and Basira all exchange worried glances.

“It’s complicated,” Basira says.

“I highly doubt that,” Manuela snorts. “Perhaps your institute has other plans, but all she wants is for you to replace what’s been lost. The spiders have always relied on the deliverymen to help pull the right strings. Of course they would want new messengers. She’s simply ensuring you’re equipt to handle any flavor of delivery that comes your way.”

“Oh, is that all?” Daisy says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I guess she did kind of say something like that,” Basira admits. “She said that strangers exist when someone gets killed and replaced, but she didn’t say _who_ had to get replaced. And Daisy did kill Hope. But that… it’s so _simple.”_

“Why complicate it?” Manuela asks. “No one ever suspects anything from a package. It’s the easiest way to get someone to open up. Or bring them in.”

“So she wants us to trap people,” Basira says, voice flat. “Just… keep adding fear into the world.”

Saving Daisy was already adding fear into the world, but Gerry bites his tongue.

“You know you don’t have to listen to her, right?” Melanie says. “I mean, yeah, I get that she can control people, but if she wants you to come back to Hilltop Road, just—don’t? If you know what she wants from you, then you know how to avoid it.”

“She wants us to stay together,” Daisy says.

 _“No,”_ Basira insists. “Don’t say that. I’m not going to abandon you because some woman I’ve never met _maybe_ wants something from us.”

“You wolves and your pack bonds,” Manuela sighs.

“I’m sorry, Basira,” Melanie says gently. “But I think maybe it's time the two of you spend some time apart.”

“Sure,” Basira says shortly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Melanie and Gerry share a look.

 _“Will_ you?” Melanie asks.

“We’ll just avoid getting into supernatural stuff together,” Basira shrugs. “No monsters means no hunts, right?”

“That’s not the only way you can make someone worse,” Gerry tells her.

“Well, it’s not like the dread powers are going to get us if we go shopping together,” Basira snorts. She’s avoiding the conversation. 

“Basira,” Melanie says firmly. “Do you know what happened to Mike Crew?”

Wait, what?

“What happened to Mike?” Gerry asks, but Melanie’s expression tells him everything. Dread sits heavy in his chest as he waits for his answer. 

“That was who Jon was looking for when Daisy found him, right?” Basira says, as if she can’t hear the worry in his voice. “How’d you hear about him?”

“Jon told me,” Melanie says. “We actually spent a while hanging out in the tunnels together. He said he wishes he remembered where Daisy buried him.”

“You killed him,” Gerry says to Basira, disbelief clear in his voice.

“I’m not Daisy,” Basira reminds him.

“For now, maybe,” Gerry says. “But one day you’re going to be the same creature, and it won’t matter how hard you look away because her faults will be your own.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me—”

“Were you there?” Gerry interrupts.

“What?”

“Did you see it?” Gerry asks. “Were you _there?”_

“She came after,” Daisy says. She won’t look at him. Neither of them will. “She didn’t see me shoot him.”

“Does it matter what I saw?” Basira asks. Finally, she turns to look him in the eyes and Gerry sees no hesitation in her conviction. “He wasn’t innocent; he marked Jon! And he’s in the ground now. If he survives something like _that,_ we probably don’t want him around.”

“It’s not a matter of _wanting him around,”_ Gerry hisses. “He was a _person._ What did he do to deserve being killed like that? What crime was worth this punishment?”

“Are you asking me, or her?” Basira asks.

“Either! Both!” Gerry shouts, throwing his hands out in front of him. He groans and tugs his hair. “I don’t know! It doesn’t matter.”

“I was busy saving Jon,” Basira says. She’s staring hard daggers at Gerry right now. He thinks she might hate him for this. It’s almost funny. Manuela’s right there, but Basira’s the one who can’t stand being questioned. “I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to check if a _stranger_ buried in the _ground_ was okay.”

“Do you know how long it takes someone to suffocate on dirt?” Gerry demands. “Do you know how long it takes to bleed out from a bullet wound?”

“I—no, I don’t—,” Basira begins.

“Then _why_ were you so sure you couldn’t help him?” Gerry asks, cutting her off. “He’s been there for months now, hasn’t he? There was plenty of time to check. You saved her from choking on dirt. Why not him?”

“You can’t call me selfish for this,” Basira insists. “I was _forced_ to sign a contract because I tried to help. It’s _not_ my fault if I don’t want to think about it.”

“You know where she buries her bodies,” Gerry replies, stubborn. “Did you ever think their families might want the chance to do that themselves? To let them rest in peace?”

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Basira says, but she doesn’t sound so sure. Gerry turns to Daisy.

“Why did you kill him?” he asks again. His voice cracks. There’s no power to it, just desperation. The pleading cry of a victim. A part of him is grateful for it. That he can’t force her words. That there’s a chance she won’t answer, and he won’t have to hear what he already knows to be true. But even though Daisy won’t meet his gaze, she still answers. 

“Because he was in my way.”

Right. Of course. How _inconvenient._

“That can’t be all there was,” Basira argues, stubborn as stone. “I mean, he was with the Vast, right? You probably—”

Gerry stands up fast and ignores the headrush that follows. Melanie calls his name, but Gerry doesn't look back. Instead, he runs out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

If he wanted to hear someone talk with such little shame, he would have kept his mother’s book.

Helen helps Melanie find him. He hears the sound of one of her doors before he realizes Melanie’s walked through it. He hadn’t gone far, though. Maybe he would have kept running if his chest hadn’t started hurting, but as soon as he turned the corner, he’d been hit by a burning desire to find somewhere to sit. Melanie could have probably found him on her own. It just would have taken a bit more time.

Oh, that’s right. She cares about him. She must have asked for Helen’s help because she hadn’t wanted him to deal with this alone.

Huh.

“Hey,” Melanie says.

Gerry can only grunt in response. Melanie sits down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Melanie tells him. “I—Jon didn’t tell me the full story. I wouldn’t have brought it up like that if I knew you were friends.”

“Not friends,” Gerry tells her. “Only met a few times.”

The truth is, he’s not surprised Mike is dead. Everything about the man had suggested impermanence, though of course, Gerry had only known him as a desperate teenager. Maybe life without the Lichtenberg Figure had steadied him. Gerry hoped it had. But if it did, it hadn’t saved him.

Gerry would have never expected this kind of death. It wasn’t fair that an innocent kid like Mike had been tormented by the Spiral, but there were only so many ways you could curse out a lightning strike. Mike had accepted that long before Gerry met him. Mike knew that any move he made could be his last, because who could say they truly understood the whims of nature? But getting shot… that was _mundane._ Gerry had seen the creature trapped in _Ex Altiora._ It took strength to fight off something like that. Men that strong shouldn’t be killed by stray bullets.

“Most people don’t survive this,” Gerry says. “I’m used to that. But they aren’t killed like _that.”_

“Yeah,” Melanie agrees, a bit hesitant. “It sucks. I’m sorry.”

“They’re not going to make it in your world,” Gerry tells her. “Not all of the people the Institute attracts want to leave. Basira cares about doing the right thing, but she doesn’t care about suffering. She’s got no reason to quit.”

“She doesn’t have _no reason,”_ Melanie protests, but cuts herself off with a sigh. “No, you’re right. I didn’t expect her to have so many excuses. I guess I thought I knew who she was at her worst, since I spent so much time with her before Daisy came back.”

“This is her worst,” Gerry says, because he knows she’s thinking it too. “She has no idea how good or bad Mike is. All she knows Daisy killed him. And that’s enough for her.”

Melanie winces.

“I guess Annabelle was right,” she says. “They are monsters together.”

“Easy to commit to something horrible when your friend’s saying it’s alright,” Gerry agrees. He tugs on his jacket sleeve. He’s got too much energy for this conversation and he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. “Helps if you were horrible to begin with, though. Do you think they’ll dig him up?”

“Oh,” Melanie blinks. “I don’t—I could make them? Or at least get them to tell us where he is. Just because they don’t want to save him doesn’t mean we can’t.”

Gerry shakes his head. Even if Basira and Daisy were too quick to assume his alignment, Gerry doesn’t know enough about who Mike’s become to say what kind of harm he’d do if he got out. He hadn’t even really been innocent when Gerry had met him, but blood on your hands meant something different at sixteen. Still, Basira had been right about one thing: Mike _was_ an avatar. People in his position didn’t generally have the luxury to be kind.

It strikes Gerry suddenly, like a blow to the head, that Mike would probably like _Maretta the Star-Catcher._

Melanie carefully puts an arm around his shoulder. It’s almost a shock to realize that this is all the permission Gerry needs to pull her into a tight hug.

“I _hate_ them,” Gerry says. The words come out childish and small, and he feels every inch of it. No matter how hard he blinks, he can’t stop his tears from falling down his cheeks. It’s stupid to get so worked up over one man’s death, no matter how surprised he is by the murder weapon. Foolish to say that even though he never knew what to make for her, Gerry had hoped she’d make it through this mess human and alive, but— 

Basira knows where he _lives._ She’s a hunter and she doesn’t care about people like him. And _she knows where he lives._ Trevor and Julia had only really been convinced of his humanity when they found out he had cancer, and that was long enough ago that it might not matter. Yes, he had been human enough for illness, _once._ That didn’t mean he was safe from her harm now.

Would she tell Daisy? Would Gerry be safe from her? If she was willing to put bloodlust on hold for the Unknowing, how could he trust that she wouldn’t come for his throat the moment the Archives burned? She said she didn’t want to kill Jon now, but feelings were fleeting. It was only actions that lasted forever. If Portia or Bridget came to his flat, would Daisy do something to them, too? He doubted she’d be able to smell the fog on Portia, not now, but would that even matter? According to Annabelle, decisions are made long before your body springs into action. Everything else is just a justification after the fact. 

Like calling a man you never knew a monster.

He really had hoped she’d get better. That they could leave the Institute with everyone's humanity intact. But of course, this _was_ Basira with her humanity. She hadn’t been a monster when she was a cop, and yet she worked with one for years. That was what _back to normal_ would look like for her—the unwavering belief in her own ideals. The willingness to make an enemy out of anyone trying to change her mind.

Gerry pulls away from the hug and sticks his jacket sleeve in his mouth. _Stupid._ This was a good jacket. He shouldn’t be ruining it with bad habits. He wants a distraction, anything to take his mind of this shitty conversation and the deer-like fear it’s making him feel, but he doesn’t even have any cigarettes. Not that Helen would let him smoke them if he did.

“They’re _wolves,”_ he says. He doesn’t know how else to explain it. “They’re going to eat me.”

“They won’t,” Melanie promises. She rests a hand on his back. “I won’t let them touch you. I’m sorry, Gerry, I know Basira always made you a little uncomfortable, but I didn’t expect…”

He hadn’t either. 

Gerry wants to say he wouldn’t have gone back to the Archives if he knew she was this bad, but he’s had plenty of practice excusing the cruelty of people around him, especially when it was directed at him. So what if Basira had made him uncomfortable? So what if she was rude? She was trying to help. That used to be enough of a justification for him. He had hoped that time had made him wise enough not to fall into that trap again, but, well, apparently not.

It was hard to try and put words to his feelings about her and her partner. Even now, he can’t think of Basira without his mind sliding to someone else. And, yeah, maybe that should have been its own red flag, but Gerry had never met anyone willing to sacrifice so much of themself for someone else. Gertrude wouldn’t have. Gerry didn’t know if that made her a better person, or just a more desperate one, though he’s starting to think that the distinction doesn’t matter. 

Basira was willing to kill for Daisy. Willing to twist logic and turn whatever horrible deed they did into a victory. She had looked at Daisy’s garden of unmarked graves and claimed it was good luck that they had found such potent fertilizer.

They didn’t even say they were _sorry._

The good news is, Gerry’s not going to talk to Seeker and Stone again. Melanie talks to the rest of the Archives crew, who all agree that forcing Gerry to stay around someone who had killed a friend was _extremely_ fucked up, and they were nowhere near desperate enough to justify that. Jon doesn’t want Daisy in the Archives, anyways, which means Basira’s been staying away to keep her company. And Gerry only comes around if he thinks he’s needed, so it’s easy to make sure their schedules don’t match up. They’re getting better about communicating, too, which means even though Gerry’s not there for it, he hears all about Manuela’s quest to meet Callum Brodie.

Apparently, even though she insists she’ll do anything as long as it kills Elias, she’s not interested in working on any plan till she gets a chance to see the kid. She has some kind of cloaking ability, but doesn’t know how many people she can vanish or for how long, and won’t test it until they bring her Callum. 

Martin’s the one who reached out before, so he still has the mother’s contact information. He calls her up asking if either of them want to follow up on a statement they received, or if they’d like the number of a therapist—because apparently, _yes,_ the Institute _did_ have contacts at a nearby practice, which Rosie had been aware of all this time and had just assumed someone had told them. No, Rosie, Gerry’s pretty sure none of them were aware there were therapists they could talk to about their problems. He’s pretty sure the Archives would look a bit different if they had.

Anyways, Caroline Brodie gives them permission to interview her son. She says she’s not going to bring him over, but if they want to come by once he’s home from school, they can ask him then. Martin asks Basira if she wants to come along, but she refuses, saying she’s no good with kids. It’s not a great excuse, but sure, whatever. Have fun staying in the Institute.

When he gets to their house, Martin introduces Manuela as a new archival assistant. Caroline doesn’t care. Callum doesn’t seem to, either. Neither of them brings up the miasma that surrounds Manuela, or Martin’s stammered explanation of why it’s there. 

“Do you have any questions for us?” Caroline interrupts.

“Uh, yeah,” Martin says. He glances toward Manuela, but she’s too busy squinting at the light to ask anything. “Well, uh, first up, how are you?”

“Bored,” Callum says blandly. “I’ve got homework. It’s stupid, but Mum says I still have to do it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Martin says, as Manuela adjusts her jacket. “You know, uh, do you remember that cop who found you? Basira? Black woman in a hijab?”

“Her?” Callum frowns. “I think I saw her crying. It was weird. She told me I was going to be okay, like she didn’t have tears running all down her face.”

“Oh,” Martin says. “Well—she works with us now! Isn’t that funny?”

“Not really,” Callum says. Martin sighs.

“Yeah, guess not,” he agrees. 

He didn’t expect this to be so _awkward._ He’d even prepared a list of questions! It’s just, now that he’s actually _in_ their house, everything he could ask seems so inappropriate. Yes, he agreed to come here for Manuela, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to retraumatize some _kid_ because they’re a little curious about how his life’s been.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” Manuela asks suddenly. She’s still not looking at Callum, but both Brodies turn to stare at her, the apathy on their faces replaced with surprise, though Callum’s is quickly overwritten by suspicion.

“I’m not afraid,” Callum insists. “It’s just _lame.”_

Manuela sighs.

“You hate it,” she says. Callum snorts.

“What’s there to like?” he asks.

“There is comfort in obscurity,” Manuela tells him. “In the darkness, you do not spend your time worrying about the heat of the sun, or the sweat on your brow. Without fear of being seen, you may become the person you desire, unencumbered by the desires of others. In the darkness, you are at your most tender and your most honest. You are your soul laid bare. But you are protected. The night will not share your secrets with those who do not deserve to hear them. Your truest self shines only for the most worthy.”

Martin can see Callum putting the pieces together.

“You’re one of _them,_ aren’t you?” he accuses.

“I am nothing but a follower of the Dark,” Manuela says, before Martin can stop her.

And that’s all Callum needs to hear.

His eyes go wide, then harden like steel. He shoves Manuela and then runs to a different part of the house, and out of their sight.

Martin apologizes to Caroline, but she’s busy cleaning off a table, and doesn’t seem to have heard what happened. Martin offers her the number of a therapist, again, and she just shrugs and says if they have a business card, they can leave it on the kitchen table.

“It’s not weird that I’m worried, right?” Martin asks. They’re taping reflective tape on some of the walls in the tunnels. If they’re going to be burning the place down, it’s important they have a clear path. Yeah, there’s supposedly a Leitner that controls the place, but each piece of tape is cut in a way that makes it obvious where in the path they _should_ be. Hopefully, it won’t be a problem, but it was always best to have a back-up plan. 

Tim’s working on it with them, because no one knows the tunnels better than him, but he’s not paying attention to the conversation.

“I mean, I’m sure she’s a fine parent, she just seemed a little…” Martin trails off.

“She kind of sounds like she doesn’t care,” Gerry says.

“I mean, I didn’t want to _say_ something,” Martin says, but his tone makes it clear he was thinking it. “But I came by before because we were looking into a statement her ex-husband wrote, and she definitely seemed… better? Maybe she was just having a good day. And I guess it’s a lot, dealing with an abusive husband and then having your kid kidnapped, so I don’t blame her for acting a little strange, it’s just—she probably could really use that therapist, you know?”

“Kind of sounds like the kid could use one, too,” Gerry agrees.

“Manuela says Maxwell doesn’t choose hosts that have attachments,” Martin says. Gerry’s not looking his way, but he can hear the wince in his voice. “So I guess that kind of says something about his home life.”

“You think that’s why she was worried?” Gerry asks. “Because she left him to deal with his mum. She said she didn’t have a great relationship with her’s, right?”

“There was a lot about that in a statement she wrote to Gertrude,” Martin agrees. “That her parents thought she was… bad, I guess? She doesn’t really specify. But they tried to use religion as an excuse to justify whatever they felt. I mean, I guess it’s good to know that even if she’s fine with kidnapping, she draws the line at child abuse.”

“Hard to forget where you come from,” Gerry agrees. “You going back?”

“Maybe?” Martin shines a torch on the map Tim had given them and frowns. Gerry tugs him in the right direction. “I mean, I don’t want to upset him, but now that I’ve actually met him, I kind of want to know he’s okay.”

“He was kidnapped by a cult, of course he’s not okay.”

“Yes, Gerry, _thank you,”_ Martin rolls his eyes. “I just want to know if I can help him.”

“Always good to be specific,” Gerry mutters.

“Sorry,” Martin says. “It just makes me nervous. I wish I could _do_ something. I’m sure Tim could find some way to keep coming back without it being weird, but I don’t know.”

“He’s not _magic,”_ Gerry snorts. Not like that, anyway. “There’s nothing so special to what he does that you can’t do it too.”

“Yeah, but he’s _better_ at it,” Martin insists. “He’s always been way too good at getting people to trust him. No way I could get people to confess to some of the stuff they talk about with him. And I mean, he’s friends with _Jon._ Don’t get me wrong, I love Jon. I’m literally _in love_ with him, but he used to be really closed off. I was always kind of impressed at how well Tim managed to get along with him despite that.”

“Guess that means Jon must have really messed up if he stopped talking to you guys,” Gerry says idly.

“Oh,” Martin says. He stops walking. “Yeah, I guess he must have. I didn’t—I guess I didn’t think about it like that. I mean, I was just trying to focus on us trying to stay together. Elias couldn’t hurt us if we were a team, right? And if anyone was going to make that happen, it’d be Tim.”

“Sounds like something you should probably tell him,” Gerry says. “Instead of trying to justify yourself to me.”

Martin starts stuttering out a reply, but stops when he sees Tim walking back towards them.

“What are you guys doing?” Tim asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “We’ve got a path to make, come on.”

The day Martin went to find Callum, Tim and Gerry had gone to an audiologist. Gerry had explained Tim’s situation to the doctor, saying that part of the reason it took them so long to make an appointment was that Tim was already so stressed with work, and he had barely gotten enough time to recover from the injury that caused it. It was hard for them to see what was a genuine problem and not just a symptom of exhaustion.

Tim was clearly a little surprised by how much of an explanation Gerry had, but Gerry’s had years of practice coming up with believable excuses on the spot. It’s really not that hard.

The audiologist seemed to believe it, at least. According to him, a lot of people hesitate to come to appointments because they see it as giving up, but he’s glad Tim’s concerned about his own health. 

As soon as Tim finished the audiogram, the audiologist asked for more details on the accident. Tim didn’t give him any. Gerry wasn’t too surprised. The only explanations he could give would either paint it as truancy or a mental breakdown, and neither was a great thing for a doctor to believe about you, especially when you’ve been diagnosed with a personality disorder.

Luckily, though, the audiologist was way too concerned about Tim’s hearing to spend that much time on the details. Apparently, since the blast was a bit over two months ago now, there wasn’t much of a chance of it coming back. His ears might have healed faster if he’d seen someone earlier, but probably not enough to combat the hearing loss. 

Then the audiologist brought up hearing aids. They’d be free through the NHS, but the wait time for a fitting could be up to three months, so considering the extent of his hearing loss, it was probably better to buy something online so that he could get used to wearing them quickly.

“It might be a bit uncomfortable at first,” the audiologist added. “Having aids won’t magically solve your hearing loss. It’s a tool, and like all tools, it takes time to understand how to use it properly.”

Then he handed the two of them some pamphlets. One of them had information on where to find nearby BSL classes. Another was on what to expect from your first hearing aid. 

So all in all, a pretty successful day.

Except now they kind of have to tell everyone else about it.

Not _immediately,_ obviously, but there wasn’t going to be much point hiding it. Tim would need to get used to them before doing something dangerous like say, burning down another building—and _no,_ that’s not up for debate—which means they’ve got to reconsider their timeline.

Tim doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, though, because he thinks it’ll sound guilt-trippy. That’s fine. Gerry gets it. Just means he has the absolute pleasure of walking into the Archives and very casually asking, “Hey, did you know Tim’s deaf now?”

“What?” Martin says. “No he isn’t.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow.

“Actually, that does explain a lot,” Melanie says. “I wasn’t going to say anything since it wasn’t my place, but he _has_ seemed a bit out of it lately.”

“I thought he was just ignoring me,” Jon admits.

“Why would he ignore you?” Gerry asks. Jon makes a noise and gestures vaguely with his hands, which Gerry assumes translates to something about Archives drama.

“And you didn’t… ask?”

“Tim doesn’t like questions.”

Right. Well, that was true, at least. Still, Gerry can’t help but feel frustrated at how they’re all taking this. This shouldn’t be _easy_ for them. Not when it was so hard for Tim.

“Well, we’ve just bought hearing aids,” Gerry says. “They’re going to take a few days to arrive, but it takes some time to get used to them. So if you’re planning anything big soon…”

Jon stares blankly. Gerry waves a hand.

“Oh!” Jon says. “Right. Of course. I’m sure we can—there’s no reason we can’t wait another week or so. I still need to get my cast off. We’re not in that much of a rush.”

“Cool. I’ll let him know.”

“Is there any reason you’re having this conversation with us instead of him?” Melanie asks.

“I mean, it’s not that easy to hold a conversation with people you can’t hear,” Gerry says. “But—I mean, it’s because of the Unknowing. He didn’t suddenly start losing his hearing. The blast…”

“It didn’t affect me,” Jon interrupts, then winces. “Do you think it could be the, ah…”

“Do I think your magic Archivist powers saved your ears?” Gerry asks. “Absolutely no clue. But I’d imagine it’s a bit hard to feel full on statements you can’t hear.”

“So if I was… human,” Jon begins slowly.

“Humanity isn’t measured by how badly you can get hurt,” Gerry tells him. “Plenty of avatars bleed just like anyone else. And I mean, your leg broke just fine. You could have just been lucky.”

“Right,” Jon says. “It’s just, well, after Prentiss… I suppose it might’ve felt like breaking a cycle.”

He scratches the scars on his arm. Right. Of course. Gerry knows that Tim had made some jokes about their injuries this time, saying that the Unknowing had cost them _an arm and a leg,_ but they never had that the first time around, did they? Did Jon think that would fix it? That being able to commensurate in a new scar would make up for his dismissal of the first one?

Honestly, it probably would have helped. Not just with Jon and Tim’s relationship. The reminder that Jon was just a human might’ve been enough to shake Basira’s plans, even if she still ended up freeing that monster of her’s from the box. A clean break of the bone was nothing compared to a permanent injury.

“How much hearing did he actually _lose,_ though?” Martin asks. “Because it’s already the end of September. So that means…”

“Yeah,” Gerry agrees. Almost two full months had passed since then. “Your observational skills kind of suck.”

“Okay, but he’s the only one who got injured like that,” Martin protests. “How were we supposed to know it was even on the table?”

“Basira actually had some issues with her ears,” Melanie says. “She didn’t want to deal with it, but I didn’t like how snappy it was making her, so I just dragged her to A&E one day. Think they gave her some antibiotics. Healed up pretty quick after that, honestly, but I don’t doubt that Tim had it worse. Would have taken him in, too, if I hadn’t been so busy avoiding everyone. Sorry, Gerry.”

“Melanie, you’re my favorite person in this room,” Gerry tells her. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Martin mutters something about favoritism. Gerry tilts his head Martin’s direction.

“Do you feel like a bad friend?” he asks.

“Of course I do!” Martin says. “I mean, this is the second time—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Gerry gets it. Martin had been living with Jon since before the Unknowing. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d be more aware of one than the other, but it was still the second time he had ignored Tim to focus on Jon’s recovery.

“I think the real problem is that you’re all more focused on the statements than each other,” Gerry says. He’s choosing not to blame them. There’ll still be time for that later. “Or just… getting better in general. It’s not easy to get a Mark to fade. You can’t expect it to work like a normal injury. No matter how healed the scars look, you’ll always feel it. And it’ll always hurt. Even if it doesn’t ache in a way you think it should, the pain’ll still be there.”

Gerry hesitates for a moment, suddenly glad his jacket covers so much of his skin. He doesn’t feel the heat in his skin anymore, and for that, he’s grateful. But it still feels so sensitive. He knows he’s never going to stop flinching from touch. Things like that make it hard not to think about how vulnerable he is.

“I don’t think any of you have acknowledged that yet,” Gerry adds. “You can’t expect the bleeding to stop on its own. And all you’re doing is swimming in shark-infested waters when you should be bandaging up the cut.”

“Is this you telling us to go to therapy?” Melanie asks.

“I don’t generally recommend talking to professionals,” Gerry says. “But I mean, you need something good to counteract all of this. Could be therapy. Could be game night with friends. And, honestly, if you _did_ have game night, you’d definitely have noticed the hearing thing. Just saying.”

“We haven’t really talked outside of work,” Jon agrees.

“I haven’t talked to _anyone_ outside of work,” Martin admits. “Peter’s so exhausting that sometimes I just want to go home and go straight to bed.”

“You have been doing that a lot these days,” Jon agrees.

“I know,” Martin sighs and rests his hands on his head. “Thanks for making dinner.”

“Thank _you_ for cleaning up,” Jon replies. He pauses. “Since we’re in no rush, I suppose we could have some sort of party? It might be a good idea to, ah, boost morale? Especially against…”

Jon turns to look at the door. 

“We could have spent Rosh Hashanah together,” Martin realizes. “Like we did last year. Honestly, I kind of wish we did, but between visiting my mum, planning our trip, and just… dealing with Peter, I didn’t have the energy for anything.”

“Weren’t we thinking of doing something when you got back?” Jon asks.

“I completely forgot about that!” Martin says. “I mean, after Basira—”

Martin doesn’t finish the thought. Not that he really needs to.

“Not too late to do something, though,” Gerry says. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything, but a good memory can be an anchor against loads of things. Might be nice.”

“It would be nice to have an excuse to bake some challah,” Jon agrees. “It’s a bit tiresome, honestly, but I know Tim enjoys it.”

“I’ll bet,” Gerry agrees. He hesitates. “But… if you’re making this an Archives party... _They’ll_ come, won’t they? Not sure if I’d want to stop by.”

“I understand the feeling,” Jon says. He rubs his neck. “I wouldn’t feel right avoiding them, but…”

“We’ll have girl’s night,” Melanie says. Jon turns to look at her. “Me, Daisy, Basira, and Manuela. Helen too, if she feels like dropping by. I haven’t been able to look at Basira the same since Hilltop, but she really did help me. So if this can be some kind of anchor for her, and it means you guys don’t have to feel guilty about finally getting together and talking… I don’t know. I’ll take one for the team, I guess.”

“They’re _wolves,”_ Gerry says.

“And I’m not some stupid hunter trying to take a picture with a wild animal,” Melanie replies. “If anything, I’m a zookeeper.”

“As much as I appreciate the metaphor, zookeepers are professionals,” Gerry says.

“And I’m not?” Melanie says. She waves her hand. “The Archives has _tons_ of information on the Hunt. _And_ I’ve known both of them for _months._ Manuela, she’s a bit new, but… honestly, I think isolation kind of did a number on her. She doesn’t really care about being evil anymore. I don’t know if she ever did, actually. She’s lonely. I think she just wants friends. Not that she thinks we’re really worthy of her—except Martin, I guess—but, hey, it’s a start.”

“You really don’t think any of them will hurt you?” Gerry asks.

“I mean, I’m not really afraid of them, honestly,” Melanie admits. “I’ve never been scared of the dark, or the police. I was always the one to pick the locks and break into place when I was doing Ghost Hunt. Everyone else was too worried about getting arrested, but I never really saw it as a problem. And Manuela’s lived in my flat long enough that I’m getting pretty good getting around without sight. I don’t know. I guess what I’m saying is—”

“You’re not the snack we are,” Gerry interrupts. She wasn’t wrong. The Hunt in Daisy would probably naturally draw her back to him and Jon, but Melanie might barely even register as a potential meal.

“Yeah,” Melanie says. “Might as well take advantage of that, right?”

Gerry wants to tell Melanie that if Daisy hurts her, Gerry will pull out her claws, but he thinks Melanie might find that a bit overdramatic. He’s not kidding, though.

“I want to believe in second chances,” Jon says. “Melanie, if you think you can make them better, _any_ of them—you have my blessing.”

“I mean, they’re more likely to listen to me than you, I guess,” Melanie says. “That’s not noble or anything. It’s just practical.”

The door to the Archives swings open, revealing Tim and a very angry looking preteen with dark circles under his eyes. There’s something odd about his pupils, but Gerry doesn’t bother looking too close. Instead, he gives Tim a thumbs up and sees his shoulders drop in relief, a gesture quickly replaced by his signature grin.

“You’ll never guess who I found,” Tim says, amusement clear in his voice.

 _“Callum Brodie?”_ Martin asks, shocked. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Callum shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Dunno,” he says, voice filled with active indifference. “Maybe.”

“He’s looking for Manuela,” Tim says. He makes a slightly exaggerated sweep of the room. “Doesn’t look like she’s in today, kid.”

 _“Duh,”_ Callum replies, rolling his eyes. If Tim hears him, he doesn’t show it.

“You really skipped school so you could visit a research building?” Gerry says. In an instant, Callum’s nonchalant exterior disappears.

“Of course I am!” Callum shouts. “I don’t know what this place really is, but there’s no way it’s just some _research building._ No way you came around asking about me just because you were curious. It happened _months_ ago. Why would you bring it up _now?”_

_And why didn’t you help me sooner?_

No, that’s—the fragile look in Callum’s eyes must be Gerry’s imagination. G-d, he doesn’t know how to handle something like this. He can’t remember the last time he interacted with a real kid.

“I mean, we get a lot of statements…” Martin begins slowly.

“Cool,” Callum says. “I don’t care. What’s wrong with that lady you were with?”

“What’s _wrong_ with her?” Martin repeats.

“Yeah,” Callum says. It’s an accusation. “You know.”

“Manuela’s been out of the country for a long time,” Melanie says. “She… kind of knew something had happened, but she wasn’t sure what, so she asked us to help her follow up.”

“But you didn’t care,” Callum says. Melanie looks away. Gerry doesn’t think she should have any reason to feel guilty. If he’s remembering right, this was before she started. Not really her fault that no one mentioned it.

“Our company has kind of a pretty big ‘no caring’ policy,” Tim says lightly. “Plus, that was right after the worms, so…”

Callum looks up at him, confused.

“The worms?” he asks. Tim taps one of the marks on his skin.

“How’d you think I got all these scars?” Tim asks. “Guess that’s what happens when you forget to put away your food! Got real mad when I tried to take back my sandwich, let me tell you that.”

“Gross.” Callum makes a face. “No way that’s what happened.”

“Would I lie to you?” Tim asks. He gestures around the Archives. “This is a research building! You _have_ to tell the truth here.”

That makes Callum hesitate.

“Do you want us to tell you what happened to you?” Jon asks carefully. Callum snorts.

“I know what happened,” he says. “They told me they took me ‘cuz of my dad. And _she_ came back to finish the job. Don’t need to know any more than that.”

Well, that wasn’t the _worst_ attitude to have about getting kidnapped, but blaming a parent was usually just one step away from blaming yourself, so Gerry really doubts the kid’s actually processed everything.

Then again, was that even up for debate? Of course he hadn’t. He wouldn’t have come here if he could stop thinking about it. And he wouldn’t have visited during the day unless he _really_ wanted answers. It’s a hassle getting anywhere when you’re that age. A teenager could get away with skipping school, but any younger than that, you tended to see strangers making your situation their business. The fact that he’d made it all the way to the Institute definitely said something. Gerry doubted the kid had an actual _plan,_ but Callum wouldn’t have gone to the effort of finding the place if he didn’t think they could offer some kind of relief. Considering how he reacted to Manuela, he was probably looking for a fight. Gerry wouldn’t be surprised if Callum had probably assumed the Archives was part of the People’s Church. Martin definitely could have been clearer about everything.

“It’s not really that simple,” Jon says. “Your father… it wasn’t his fault. He encountered something at his work, and…”

“The cult is dead,” Gerry interrupts, because that kind of knowledge rarely helped after the fact. Knowing something was just bad luck didn’t change the fact that you had been unlucky. Or that something happened to you, and you had been powerless to stop it. “They took you because they were desperate. Sacrificing you was their last hope, but that didn’t happen. Which means they’re gone for good now. Thanks to you.”

“Oh,” Callum says softly. For a moment, he looks sincerely comforted by this fact, but his honest expression is quickly replaced by pre-teen aloofness.“So they’re not coming back, then.”

“Their churches are empty,” Gerry confirms. “That’s all Manuela wanted you to know. She wasn’t going to take you anywhere or anything like that. She was hoping that you’d understand you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Callum snorts.

“Didn’t have to be so weird about it,” he says.

“That’s Manuela for you,” Melanie agrees. “Did, uh, anyone call your mum?”

“Got Rosie to do it,” Tim says. “You ready to go back home?”

Callum considers this.

“I want to go to school,” he says. “But I want _them_ to take me.”

Callum points to Gerry. Gerry blinks and points at himself. Really? _Him?_

“Is there a teacher you want to freak out or something?” Gerry asks.

“Yeah,” Callum says. He doesn’t offer any more explanation. “Can we go now?”

Rosie’s phone call with Caroline Brodie goes very well, apparently. She doesn’t seem that mad at her son, and when Rosie calls her back to explain that Gerry’ll drop him off at school, Caroline just sighs, thanks her, and then hangs up. Callum doesn’t seem too surprised.

“Sometimes she gets worried,” he says. “Sometimes she doesn’t. Her work doesn’t really like when she takes breaks, either.”

Gerry really doubts that she was only _sometimes_ worried and honestly, was now a little worried about Caroline Brodie himself. He wonders if she had hung up to go have a panic attack because her recently kidnapped child was now in a building that she had no idea how to get to.

Or maybe she was just a bad parent and didn’t care.

Either way, Callum’s not a bad kid. He asks Gerry about his cane on the ride over, but he’s more curious about the spikes than why Gerry needs it. Callum wants to know if Gerry needed any kind of special permission to stick them on.

“Permission from who?” Gerry asks. Callum shrugs and kicks his legs.

“I dunno,” he says. “But if you can just _do_ that, why doesn’t everyone else?”

“Probably feel a little weird about it,” Gerry says. “Or it doesn’t fit their aesthetic. I dunno.”

Callum scoffs.

“Don’t know what to tell you, kid. Not everyone wants to be goth.”

“They _should,”_ Callum says. “Makes you look like Batman. You know, if you were cooler.”

“Batman,” Gerry says. Personally, he thinks he might look a bit more like a Bat _girl_ but good on Callum for not assuming a skirt and cane disqualified him from being some macho action hero. “A friend told me I have ‘real Spider-Man energy.’”

“Spider-Man’s stupid,” Callum informs him. “All he does is beat up old people and complain about his issues. Batman fights _real_ monsters.”

Gerry doesn’t mention that beating up old people was what he loved about Spider-Man. Instead, he asks what Callum thinks of the Joker. Callum snorts.

“Clowns are _boring,”_ he says. “I like Killer Croc. And Poison Ivy. They’re proper villains with powers and everything.”

“Doesn’t Spider-Man have an alien as a nemesis?” Gerry asks.

“I used to like him,” Callum says. He shifts in his seat. “But he’s lame now.”

Why— _oh._

“Sorry,” Gerry says. “I’m not much of a comics fan. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Venom’s not _bad,”_ Callum tells him. “Not always. He just needs to latch onto someone to survive. You can’t really blame him for wanting to live. And Flash said he was cool with it. But Spider-Man didn’t, and Venom still goes after Spider-Man. Because he doesn’t care.”

“Good thing Spider-Man knows how to stop him, yeah?”

“It’s easy to stop Venom,” Callum scoffs. “All you need is a little fire. But Killer Croc’s a guy you gotta _really_ fight. His skin’s so tough, nobody can hurt him! And you gotta watch out for his teeth. _That’s_ scary.”

Gerry laughs.

“Guess you’re going to have to let me borrow some of your comic books,” he says. “You’re making him sound pretty cool.”

After that, the conversation turns into Callum telling Gerry about all the comics he reads, and what comics _Gerry_ should read, which Gerry promises to do. Callum very seriously informs him that if Gerry’s lying to him, he’ll haunt his dreams, and after that adorable threat, they’re almost at Callum’s school.

It’s kind of a fun situation to be in, honestly. A teacher walking in the hall doesn’t even hide the way she stares when Gerry steps inside, and almost walks into a wall. The receptionist at the desk seems similarly stunned.

Gerry tries to offer an explanation to the man, but he doesn’t think he’s actually listening, because the receptionist just hands Callum a hall pass and tells him to go to class. Callum takes a long slurp of the sprite Gerry bought him on the way there, then takes the pass. 

“Thanks,” Callum says. He starts walking away. Gerry stops him.

“There’s still creatures in the dark,” Gerry says. “They won’t come after you unless you let them, but they _do_ exist. Manuela and I don’t see eye-to-eye on everything. She’d probably tell you there’s no need to worry, but…”

Gerry trails off. Callum stares, but doesn’t say anything.

“Getting out of one mess doesn’t always mean you’ll be able to get out of another,” Gerry finishes. “So just—be careful, okay? Don’t wander too far off the path. There’s no need to give any of yourself away.”

Gerry half expects Callum to roll his eyes and tell him off for being vague, or for trying to tell him what to do, but the kid looks surprisingly pleased to see Gerry so worried.

“I’ll be careful,” Callum promises. “See you around, Gerry.”

Gerry heads to Melanie’s after he leaves the school. And by that, he means he walks back to the Tube, realizes how much farther he’s got to go, then sighs and asks Helen for a door. When Gerry opens it, he’s greeted by Manuela rubbing an egg on her skin. She turns to face him. He stares.

“Evil eye, right?” he asks. “Is that because of me, or…?

“I was hoping to cure myself,” Manuela admits. There’s a lit candle on the table. She holds her hand near it, but the layer of darkness around her is too thick for the light to pierce. Manuela sighs. “I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to walk amongst humanity.”

Gerry sniffs. He thinks he can smell incense burning in the air.

“You’ve thought about this a lot?” he asks.

“It’s difficult not to,” Manuela admits. “I may have left my post, but all I’ve done is left one prison for another. This may be a more inhabited town, but unless I cast off my old ways, I will remain isolated.”

Manuela sets the egg on the table and sighs.

“I can’t even go _shopping,”_ she says. “Not with all that fluorescent lighting.”

“But you still left,” Gerry reminds her. “For Callum.”

“The sunlight burned my skin,” Manuela replies. “I buried myself in layers, covered every inch I could, and yet I could still feel it blister like a summer sun. But I wanted to see him. So I did.”

“He came by today,” Gerry tells her. Manuela stands up.

“Did something happen to him? Was he well?”

“He was fine,” Gerry reassures her. “Just worried, I guess? You kind of freaked him out—not your fault, but I mean, come on. You should have expected he’d be a bit sensitive to your whole deal.”

“I could have chosen my words better,” Manuela agrees.

“I told him you came by to tell him the Church was done for and that he didn’t have anything to worry about,” Gerry says. “Think he appreciated that.”

Manuela picks the egg back up and rolls it in her hands.

“Good,” she says finally. “He should… He deserves to feel safe.”

“I think he still wants to see you again,” Gerry says. “He probably has questions.”

“And you expect me to answer?” Manuela snorts.

“I do,” Gerry says. “He’s still halfway to becoming one of yours. I thought that was what you wanted.”

Manuela pauses.

“I did,” she admits. “When I saw him, I could barely stop myself from giving a sermon. I wanted to teach him to understand the strength of darkness—but in the _right_ way. For a moment, I imagined replacing his fear with awe. But it’s best that does not come to pass. I have no wish to share my loneliness. It was a blessing to be so understood by my church, but the People’s Church I knew is nothing but a memory. Try as I might to recreate it, my visions of the past never quite make it to the present.”

Manuela starts rolling the egg again.

“I miss Maxwell,” she admits. “I’m not sure I know how to live without him. So much of what I’ve done has been in his name. I used to think it made me happy, but now that I’m forced to carve my own path, I realize how little of my life I have led for myself. I spent my childhood fearing my parents, and my teenage years pushing against them. And then I met Maxwell my first year of university. I had always known I was meant for science, but after his sermon, I could imagine no path by his. And of course, education became much easier with his funding.”

“I get it,” Gerry says. He takes a seat in a chair across from her. “Spent way too much of my own life living for my mum. Either I was bringing books to her, or burning them to spite her. Then Gertrude burned her pages, so I went with her. And then Gertrude left, and for the first time in my life, I was on my own.”

“What did you do?”

“I got some roommates, actually,” Gerry tells her. “I was stuck in America, and there was—I had some problems with my health. Traveling wouldn’t have been good for me. So I started living with Kira and Basil. One of them had an experience with the fears, but neither of them really knew what they were, and I didn’t know how to explain myself in a way that made sense. But they never stopped reaching out. No matter how weird or vague I was, they’d still invite me to hang out. I guess eventually, we all stopped caring about figuring each other out and we just started acting like friends.”

“It sounds nice,” Manuela sighs. “It’s so lovely to be unknown together, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know how unknown I was,” Gerry admits. “They know plenty about me. Just not all the context for all of it.”

Manuela laughs.

“That’s the first thing Maxwell promised me,” she says. “That no matter what you may admit, you will be asked no questions. Any gospels given will be for your own catharsis. You will never be offered as a _meal.”_

Manuela seems to realize who she’s talking to as after she snarls out the last word, and offers a soft apology.

“I get it,” Gerry tells her. “It sounds nice. There’s a lot of statements in the Archives about me, you know? Made it really weird to work with Gertrude. I just kept wondering what about me she knew. Or what she _thought_ she knew. I remember she told me once I wasn’t what she was expecting. I didn’t really know what to say to that, but she knew my mum, so I decided to take it as a compliment.”

“She assumed that all there was to you was a list of stories she could analyze,” Manuela spits. It’s strange to see her angry on his behalf. “I imagine it makes it quite easy to remove yourself from the situation when the one standing by your side is not a person, but a book that she was tasked with editing.”

Gerry winces.

“Well, she did consider putting me _in_ a book, so,” he says. He hopes his laugh comes out more humorous than hurt. No such luck. Manuela frowns.

“Gertrude did not deserve your loyalty,” she says. A pause. “Would you like to join me in my experiments?”

“Maybe,” Gerry says. He really, really does. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“Nothing more than a few traditional remedies,” Manuela shrugs. “I assumed if anything was to affect me, it’d be the superstitions of my family.”

“You’re definitely on the right track,” Gerry agrees. “Some of these things work on dream logic. The more emotion behind it, the stronger it gets.”

Manuela laughs.

“It’s magic,” she tells him. “It operates on nothing but _faith.”_

“It’s more intuitive than that, I think,” Gerry says.

“Maybe for _you,”_ Manuela scoffs. “My faith is written into my soul. I can unleash the darkness because I know myself to be worthy of it. I could build a sun because I was confident in my abilities as a physicist, and so I knew it was well within my power.”

Gerry frowns. That’s not how he usually described it.

“So you built the sun how?” Gerry asks. “By just… wishing really hard?”

“Mainly, I used someone else’s fear of the dark,” Manuela says. “But it only worked because I believed it would.” 

“Kind of sounds like if it’s so based on faith for you, you’re not going to change unless you lose yours,” Gerry says, before he can stop himself. Manuela frowns. “Sorry. That’s probably not it. Ignore me.”

“You’re not incorrect,” she says slowly. “There are… certain things I suppose I must give up if I truly wish to leave this flat. My faith does not allow me to subject myself to the ordeal of being known, and yet I do not believe I can survive without it. Maxwell made it seem so easy.”

“They always do,” Gerry agrees.

“A roommate does make it easier,” Manuela admits. “You must be known to share a home, but Melanie asks no unnecessary questions. Sometimes she’ll offer to take my laundry, or buy me dinner. The first time she asked, I was… unkind. Any question, regardless of how simple or vague it might be, felt as though she was attempting to claw something out of me. But now…”

Manuela shrugs.

“I suppose I’m getting used to it,” she says. “Every truth I speak tastes like failure, but the sweetness of her friendship is enough to wash away the taste. I have never known myself to be so desperate for kindness. I’m starting to realize I have never known myself at all.”

“Well,” Gerry says. “Now you know?”

“I’ve been speaking with the Seeker,” Manuela says. “I’m not sure how much you want to hear, but there are things she understands. No lamps need be lit in her presence for her bestial eyes to turn my way.”

Gerry tenses.

“Yeah?” he says carefully.

“She wanted to apologize to you,” Manuela says. “She has no interest in ignoring her wrongdoings, which means she must speak hard truths. She did not mean to hurt you in her path for redemption. She understands that this does not matter. She knows she has no right to burden you with an explanation. But I believe her intentions are worth acknowledgment.”

It is,” Gerry agrees. He lets himself relax slowly. “I didn't expect that kind of apology. I’m glad she gets it. But I don't forgive her.”

“Daisy does not expect forgiveness,” Manuela says. “Nor do I. I have caused much pain on Maxwell's behalf, but that does not mean I was not the one holding the knife. She understands this. And she asks no questions. And thus, she understands me. I think I may be growing fond of her. I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Gerry says. “I don't want to see her again, but that doesn't mean I want her to keep being a terrible person. If you think she's really going to change, I'm glad to hear it. I just…can’t be around for it.”

Manuela nods slowly.

“Basira has not yet apologized for the part she’s played,” she says hesitantly. “She… seems to be having some difficulty with her own path. Daisy does not want to go back to who she was before, and thus, Basira can not continue as her partner. No matter how much they care about one another, Daisy cannot work alongside someone who refuses to acknowledge the wounds her talons have caused. There is no point in leaving an institution if you continue to recreate the parts in it made you the monster you have become. I would not have been able to make any kind of decision for my future, had I still been with my church. I think distance from each other would serve them both well.”

“But they don't want that,” Gerry says. Manuela nods.

“They can no longer separate themselves from each other,” she says. “If they were ever capable of that before, the choice is gone now. They can feel the pull of the Web, but their feelings toward each other are strong enough that they refuse any attempts to snip their strings.”

“Not in the right place to make good decisions, huh?” Gerry says.

“I think Basira may be looking for an easy solution,” Manuela replies thoughtfully. “But I cannot grant her those. Only Annabelle has that power.”

Gerry sighs and lets his face fall onto the table.

“Right,” he says. “Of course.”

“Thinking about the two of them makes me understand your inclinations a bit better,” Manuela admits. “It’s infuriating, watching the two of them try to justify themselves to each other. No advice I give will be headed, not unless Basira agrees. No violent act of mine is permissible, unless Daisy has done the same. I just wish I could see where their path will take them.”

“Nowhere good, probably,” Gerry sighs. He doesn’t want to think about it. “What’ll you think will happen if you crack the egg?”

“A good question.” Manuela cracks the egg in a bowl, then laughs at the inky dark liquid that drips out. 

“Looks like it’s working just fine,” Gerry says. “Turns out, all you needed was a little time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Mentions of police brutality, real & imagined, panic attacks, talk of past kidnapping & cult worship
> 
> Today marks the first time since I've started this fic that I've posted a chapter without finishing the first draft of the one that comes after. Which means that there may be a longer delay in chapters, but i promise to be worth the wait! Shana Tova, to everyone celebrating this week!  
> also, reasons gerry has spider-person vibes: that time jessica drew went to the hospital and ended up saving someone from a hostage situation that would have started a war. the time spider gwen stopped herself from going venom-savage by listening to rock music. spiderman noir being seen as a literal demon but still being carded in a speakeasy. the fact that someone from the future comes back to tell anarchist spiderman (spiderpunk) finding that he's going to die young and responding to that by saying, "sounds like a problem for future me!" and going off to fight a multi-dimensional battle with immortal psychic vampires
> 
> up next: a party! and a visit from an old friend


	10. Starcatchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the mike crew of chapters! (chapter centered around people who got irreversibly traumatized as kids)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: the only book in this chapter has not yet been rated, but we hope you'll love it anyways

Basira’s waiting for Gerry when he gets home. He doesn’t recognize the man standing next to her until he turns his head and Gerry spots a familiar bright pattern glowing through the dirt coating his skin. When Mike finally focuses enough to see him, the recognition in his eyes turns to betrayal so quickly that Gerry wants to beg for forgiveness.

 _We’re not friends,_ he wants to say. _I would never. I didn’t know._

But he could have known. He should have. The first thing he had ever learned about Basira was that she was an ex-cop, one that had survived years of being thrown at the supernatural as a Sectioned officer. Nothing good could come from someone like that. There were only so many monsters a person could face before they started getting ideas.

“You’re back,” Basira says, as if the way Mike trembles next to her means nothing. “Guess you were right about him not being dead.”

Gerry opens his mouth to speak, but words fail him. Basira doesn’t seem to notice. She brushes dirt off her jeans.

“So what do we do with him?” she asks.

“What do _we_ do?” Gerry repeats. He laughs. This hadn’t been an act of kindness. Mike was still just another problem for her. Just like Breekon. “You can’t even pretend you care, can you? He’s just another _problem_ that needs to be solved.”

Basira lets out a heavy sigh.

“If I let him go, he’ll kill people,” she says, as if that’s all this is. “Excuse me for not wanting civilians dead.”

“You didn’t seem to care when it was _Daisy_ doing the killing,” Gerry spits out.

“He’s not a civilian.”

“Yes he is!”

Basira glares at him.

“So what am I supposed to do, huh?” she demands. “I’m a monster if I leave him, but now that I dug him out, that’s wrong, too? What do you _want_ from me?”

“I want you to _understand,”_ Gerry cries. “You’re still looking at him like this is _his_ fault and it’s not! You can’t just—this isn’t how you get people to forgive you! We’re not suddenly going to be friends because you _saved_ him.”

“I don’t want to be your friend, Gerry,” Basira says.

“Then don’t call me that,” he snaps. “My _friends_ can call me Gerry. _You_ can call me Gerard.”

 _“Fine,”_ Basira snaps back. “We’re not friends, Gerard. Nobody is. We’re just a group of people who got fucked over by the same evil overlord. I’m not going to go to concerts with you or braid your hair, or whatever else you’re thinking of. You want to know what’s going to happen, when all this is over? I’m going to leave London and you’ll never see me or Daisy again. The only thing I have in common with _any_ of you is how much we all hate Elias. Once that’s gone, so am I.”

“That’s how you want this to end?” Gerry asks. As much as he wouldn’t mind seeing her go, he had assumed she felt _something_ towards the rest of the Archives staff. Hadn’t she been working with them for months now? Had they really done nothing in all that time to warrant her affection?

… They might’ve. But he probably ruined that. The more he hung out with Tim at his work, the less chances Basira had to talk to the only other people who understood what she was going through. Fuck. He shouldn’t have freaked out so badly. Everything they did was just pushing her further away. Further away, and closer the ground, to plant herself amid the flowers.

“I made the choice to work in the Archives,” Basira’s telling him. “Elias said it was either me, or Daisy dies. So I chose to save my best friend. Just like I saved her from that Coffin. Maybe you wouldn’t have cared, but I did. But that’s _it._ The rest of you aren’t my problem. Jon’s not my friend, he’s my _coworker._ And I’ve barely spent enough time around Martin to even claim _that._ The only thing I’ve ever done with Tim is walk into a condemned building with him. That doesn’t mean I have to care. Sure, it sucks that we’re stuck here, but unless you’re going to do something about it, why the hell are we still having this conversation? I care about surviving. And I care about Daisy. I care that she wants to be better. So we’re making it right, starting with you. _You’re welcome.”_

 _“Thank you,”_ Gerard says, biting out the words like poison. “So what about the others?”

“The what?”

“Until you dig up every last body she buried, you’ll never know how many are still suffering,” he says. “So where’s the others? Did you bring them home, too?”

“Why do you _care?”_ Basira demands.

“You dug him up for me,” he tells her. “That’s almost kind of you, so thank you, really, but it won’t matter. You’re still sinking deeper, Stone. I thought you were smarter than this, but guess not.”

“Wait,” Basira says, confusion quickly replacing her anger.

“The _Web_ wants you to be their delivery driver,” Gerry says. “But Annabelle isn’t the Web, just a messenger. I just spoke to Manuela. She says she doesn’t want Callum to worship the Dark. And Daisy’s already said she doesn’t want you Hunting with her. Is it so surprising that Annabelle might feel the same? She’s an avatar, yeah, but no one joins up with the spiders willingly. That’s the whole _point.”_

“So, what?” Basira asks. “She’s giving me a choice? Because from where I’m standing, her opinion on what I should do seems pretty clear.”

“Annabelle Cane’s father divorced her mother when she was in secondary school,” Gerry says. “After that, she never saw him again. He didn’t help her with essays, or dry her tears, or whatever else she lied about in her statement. But I’m guessing yours did.”

“I…” Basira falters. “I’ve never gone to a beach. But that—Annabelle _lied?”_

“Yeah.” Gerry says. “It’s kind of her thing.”

He’s done with this conversation. He doesn’t have enough energy to keep yelling at her, or to spell everything out. And he’s still got Mike to look after. That should be his priority. Not _her._

Gerry walks closer to Mike and touches his arm gently.

“I can take you to your flat, if you want,” he offers. “Or you could rest at mine. Whatever you’d like.”

Mike gives a jerky shake of his head and motions vaguely towards Gerry’s door.

“Alright,” Gerry says softly. He turns to Basira. “Annabelle said it’d be difficult. That change doesn’t happen overnight. But you have to _want_ it. And honestly, I’m not sure you do. You can’t get better like this. Not when you refuse to acknowledge just how much of this is your fault.”

 _“Daisy_ was the one who got him,” Basira snaps, voice hard. Of course. She wouldn’t be the Stone if she wasn’t unyielding. “You can’t keep blaming me for her mistakes just because you’re too afraid to face her.”

“That’s not what this is,” Gerry says, but he’s not sure if he’s telling the truth. His own voice is calm, though his anger still swirls in his stomach. He shouldn’t yell. Mike’s been through enough as it is. He’s shaking, barely aware of the conversation happening around him, and yet still so obviously scared out of his mind. Gerry knows exactly who to blame for that. “Daisy’s not here right now. But you can still smell the fear in the air, can’t you?”

Basira opens her mouth, but Gerry cuts her off.

“I can’t force you to do anything,” he says. “You’re right. We’re not friends. Whatever happens next is your choice, and yours alone.”

He starts walking to his flat, an arm slung over Mike’s shoulder to steady him. Once Gerry gets to his front door, he turns back to Basira. Her anger is gone now, too and unlike him, she has nothing to replace it with. Gerry knows he’s already had the last word of this conversation, but he can’t stop himself from delivering one last warning.

“Thanks for the delivery,” Gerry says, closing his door behind him.

He doesn’t need to see her face to know how much that hurt.

Mike makes his way to Gerry’s couch to lie down and stares blankly up at the ceiling. Gerry doesn’t bother asking if he’s okay. Obviously he’s not. He doesn’t seem too capable of elaborating on that right now, either. He didn’t seem in the mood for anything as difficult as complete sentences.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Gerry asks. Mike doesn’t even twitch in response. “Yeah, thought so.”

Gerry sits down beside him and pulls out his phone. If it was any other kind of trauma, he’d offer Absynthe to Mike, but Gerry doubts that _grounded_ is a thing Mike wants to feel right now, especially when it’s from a snake’s hug. Gerry’s had his own fair share of run-ins with the Buried, nothing as terrible as what Mike went through, of course, but his own experience says to leave the windows open and draw a bath. Mike doesn’t look like he’s in any state to clean himself off. Windows, though, Gerry could open.

“Would it help if you…” Gerry trails off, unsure how to word his sentence. “You know. Probably pretty hungry after being stuck like that. I’m not really scared of a bit of vertigo, but if it helps…”

Mike shakes his head. He tries to speak, but his voice is so hoarse and his words so disjointed, Gerry can’t understand any of it. He’s not sure if Mike’s saying he _can’t,_ or he just _won’t._

Mike sighs, frustrated.

“Sorry,” Gerry says. He hesitates. “Is it alright if I call a friend? They’re in America, but they’ve dealt with something like this before. Not on this scale, but—dunno. They might be able to help.” 

Mike stops unbuttoning his shirt to respond with a shaky nod. Gerry wonders if now’s a bad time to congratulate him on his top surgery. 

“Thanks,” Gerry says. Even if Kira couldn’t offer advice, at least they could provide some sort of distraction. Gerry’s sure that after a few months of quiet dirt, Mike’s aching for some conversation, even if he can’t actually be a part of it. 

_“Re-met a guy I knew as a teenager. He’s been stuck in the ground since the end of April,”_ Gerry types. _“Not looking great. Any tips?”_

Kira’s reply is immediate.

 _“Gerry, that’s six months, holy shit,”_ they type. _“Can he even, like, move?”_

_“Not very well, honestly. He hasn’t really wanted to yet, though. Still processing.”_

_“Wait, when did he get out of the ground?”_

_“Uh, today?”_

_“Holy shit.”_

_“Yeah. Can you talk? I think the quiet’s bugging him.”_

_“Sure. Let me just get my headphones so I can actually hear what you say first.”_

Gerry’s phone rings a moment later. Gerry puts them on speaker.

“Hey, Cherry Bomb,” Kira greets.

“It’s Gerry, actually,” Gerry says. He turns to Mike. “This is Kira.”

“Hey, mystery friend,” Kira says.

“Mike,” Mike croaks out.

“Mike,” Kira says. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“They don’t think I have friends,” Gerry explains.

“Not true!” Kira insists. “I know you have friends _now._ You showed me a picture of that podcaster’s cat!”

“A very good cat,” Gerry says.

“Very good,” Kira agrees. “But I wasn’t aware you actually, like, talked to people before you turned eighteen.”

“Honestly, you’re not that wrong,” Gerry admits.

“You hear that Mike?” Kira asks. “You’re _special.”_

Mike moves slightly. Gerry thinks it’s the closest Kira’s going to get to a laugh right now.

“I don’t think I have any advice to give,” Kira admits. “I—when I was stuck, it helped me to think in absolutes. Hang on to the things I really knew, you know? Things I wouldn’t let my brain argue with. Like how much my parents cared.”

Gerry bites his lip, but Mike makes no move to acknowledge what Kira’s said.

“Can I pray for you?” Kira asks him. “I don’t know if that’ll help, but—”

This, Mike acknowledges. He lets out a strangled sob.

“No one,” he says. “Not since my parents, I haven’t—”

Oh, Mike.

Gerry touches his hand gently.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“I tried,” Mike says. “But the storm, I…”

“It’s okay,” Kira says. “I’m sorry. But there’s no storms here. I can keep praying. As long as you want me to.”

There’s a pause, and Kira lets out a nervous giggle.

“I mean, I guess there’s not much else I can do from here,” they say.

“I don’t know,” Gerry says. “I think you’re doing plenty. Mike, how you feeling?”

“Too quiet,” Mike says. “The dirt—too loud. Talk. Please.”

Gerry thinks for a moment.

“A lot’s happened since we last talked,” he says, doing his best to sound casual. “Realized I had a genetic disorder. Have you heard of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome? Well, turns out, there’s something wrong with me on a fundamental level! Oh, and I got diagnosed with another disorder, too. If you see me drinking pickle juice, you’re not allowed to say anything. I need to do that for _medical_ reasons.”

Kira makes a noise of disgust.

“Thanks for helping me figure out I have POTS,” Gerry tells them cheerifully. “It’s always great to hear I have an excuse for a bad habit.”

“I would rather see you eat salt,” Kira says.

“You have seen me do that, though.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Kira says. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, and I got a snake,” Gerry adds. “Don’t know if you saw her cage. Her name’s Absynthe.”

“She’s the love of his life,” Kira informs Mike.

“She’s my daughter,” Gerry agrees. “Pride and joy and all that.”

Kira snorts.

“Tim loves her, too,” Gerry adds. “He makes sure to say hello every time he stops by.”

“Good!” Kira says. “He’s a good boyfriend.”

They pause.

“How is he?” Kira asks. “I know you said he’s dealing with a lot. I know about his hearing, but you said he has an evil boss, right?”

“He’s good,” Gerry says. “Talked to his friends about the hearing part. They’re going to try and be more aware about everything, but…”

“But the evil boss’s been the priority?” Kira guesses. Gerry makes a noise of confirmation. “Sometimes you have to make an effort to care about people, I guess. Being distracted isn’t really a great excuse when you’re not doing anything to be _less_ distracted. I mean, they might’ve, but…”

“No, it’s pretty much been work 24/7 for them,” Gerry says. “Well, Melanie’s been going to therapy, but she did kind of figure out something was going on, she just wasn’t sure they were close enough to bring it up. But Jon’s known Tim for a few years now.”

“Tell him to make a note in his calendar,” Kira says. “These days are check up on Tim days now. Right next to fixing the spreadsheets or whatever it is you do when you work for a demon.”

“Oh, is _that_ why we’re doing Snake Pictures Saturday?” Gerry asks.

“It’s a _routine,”_ Kira replies seriously. “You can’t disrupt a routine.”

Gerry snorts.

“You really have this all figured out, huh?” 

“Naturally,” Kira says smugly. “Tim’s okay, though, right?”

“He’s been hanging out with some old publishing friends,” Gerry says. “I think it helps that his life isn’t all evil institutions now. Some of them were looking for artists, actually.”

“Are you going to be drawing cover art now?” Kira asks. “Gerry, that’s _awesome!”_

“It is,” Gerry admits, glum. “They shouldn’t trust me with a kid’s book. I’m going to end up ruining it.”

“No you’re not,” Kira insists. “How would you even ruin something like that? They chose you, didn’t they? I think they know what they want for a cover.”

“Kira, you’ve _met_ me,” Gerry laughs. “How do you think? Books don’t last long around me. And sure, I’m not planning on burning this one, but after everything I’ve seen, do you really think I’m going to know how to—I don’t know, do any of this? No way I can get through it without doing _something_ wrong.”

“I’m not an expert, but isn’t that what editors are for?”

“Maybe,” Gerry agrees hesitantly. “It just feels—it’s _normal._ I wasn’t meant for that.”

Kira hesitates. He’s not sure how much they understand, but that’s fine. He’s talking to them, but, honestly, this part is more for Mike. Gerry’s not sure if he’s really listening, or if it all sounds like white noise, but either way, Gerry missed him, and just because he understands what it’s like to live on the same kind of deadline Gerry has. Somehow, though that deadline was only more obvious now that Gerry wasn’t sure if it was actually approaching. It’s hard not to think about it.

“I don’t know if I can be what they want from me,” Gerry says. “Sure, maybe Tim’s friend knows some eccentric writers, but there’s a difference between being a little weird and living how I do. I can’t be _me_ and _normal_ at the same time. I don’t even know how to try. And Tim… He doesn’t want to go back to working at publishing, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want _something._ I mean, I do too, but…”

 _People_ change. Not Gerry. He could never manage something so human. All _he_ was ever supposed to be was his mother’s tool. The Gerry that exists in the Archives’ statements isn’t him, not really, but it feels more honest, somehow, to have that be his legacy. Even if they burn the building down, that part of him was always going to last longer than he will. There’s always going to be something to fight, after all. Always something to run from. And how could he trust that everything else won’t fade away? He doesn’t think Portia or Kira will get tired of him, but he’s never known friendship to last. Is he really allowed to just… have that? 

It’s not that he doesn’t want it. He does, really. He thinks he’s always wanted something like this. Gerry actually kind of loves the idea of working on a kid’s book and that terrifies him. What’ll he do if they change their mind? Yes, he’s changed his name, but it couldn’t take that much digging for them to find that he was the same Gerard Keay who had almost gone to jail for the murder of his own mother. He wasn’t worth the bad press he could bring. There was no way he could make up for the fear she had caused.

What if it’s worse than that? What if he does get this, just this once, and then never again? So many things have gone right for him lately, but so many things have gone wrong, _period._ How can he trust that this might stay?

“If I take this job, it’s something new,” Gerry says. “Like, _really_ new. Everyone who’s ever known me could tell I was involved in some bad shit, and it’s just—how do I go from _that_ to Gerry Delano, illustrator of a bloody kid’s book?”

“You don’t,” Kira tells him. “You start by thinking of yourself as ‘Gerry Delano, someone who’s boyfriend got him a really cool job.’”

Gerry sighs. He wishes it was that easy.

“What’s the book about?”

“Oh,” Gerry says. “Stars, I guess? Basically, the plot is that this kid’s mum is sick, so she tries to find a shooting star to help wish her back to health, but I think it might be a metaphor for depression or something?”

“And you thought you couldn’t do this.”

“Well, _yeah,”_ Gerry says. “I don’t know how much kids want to think about depressing shit. It’s not like I’m planning on adding some nightmare to the cover or whatever, but the last kid I talked to got kidnapped by a _cult._ You think I know what the hell normal formative years are supposed to look like?”

“But you could talk to the author, couldn’t you?” Kira asks. “You don’t even have to say anything about yourself. You just need to know how _they_ want it to look.”

“First rule of commissions, huh?” Gerry jokes.

“Something like that,” Kira agrees gently. “I mean, no one’s going to draw the main character exactly how the author imagined. They hired you because they thought you could bring her to life in a way someone else couldn’t.”

“And they’re going to be disappointed.”

_“Gerry.”_

“Kira, I’ve had a total of about three jobs in my entire life. And one of those jobs was looking for _evil books._ The only records of me that exist are about all the illegal shit I’ve done. I don’t even have to _do_ anything to mess this up. They’re going to look me up and see who I was and realize they’ve made a mistake.”

Mike tugs at his sleeve and signs the word for ‘book.’ It’s an easy enough motion to catch, but Gerry’s a little proud he still remembers the translation.

“Oh.” Gerry blinks. “It’s called _Maretta the Star-Catcher._ It’s kind of a family occupation, I guess, only Maretta’s family thinks she’ll be better at it than the rest of them because she was born in a meteor shower. There’s something about the light, I guess? That she’d always know where to find another star, because their fire was already inside her. Before the story starts, she’s already gone into the sky a few times, but she always goes with a family member. This is her first time being alone, and she’s not super sure how to get down on her own. But knows her dad’s going to be disappointed in her for doing something so reckless, so she thinks she can’t go back down ‘til she finds what she’s looking for, anyway.”

“Wait, did you read the book already?” Kira asks.

“They only sent me a few chapters.”

“And?”

“And I loved it,” Gerry admits. “I don’t think I ever had the chance to read a real kid’s book, and this is the only time I’ve regretted it, because it means I missed out on stories like these. I kind of really hope it gets popular, you know?”

“Don’t say it,” Kira scolds. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“But it _would_ be better off with a different artist,” Gerry insists.

“Stories are supposed to be given to people who love them,” Kira says. “And you love this. I think that makes up for any lack of experience. Right, Mike?”

Mike’s eyes seem more focused now. He struggles on the couch, so Gerry helps him sit up.

“I want you to draw the sky,” Mike says.

“Gerry,” Kira says. “Try it out. Please. I don’t want you to miss something like this because you don’t think you deserve it.”

But he _doesn’t._

Or even if he does, when has that mattered? There is no balance to the world. He had tried time and again to find some semblance of sense in the world, but could see only those destined for harm. The only constant in the world was fear and the fearful. If you were lucky, you’d live your life unaware of the truth, but none of the people that knew _deserved_ it. Mike didn’t deserve to be struck by lightning at eight years old. He didn’t deserve to spend years being tormented by the same creature that had marred his skin. Tim didn’t deserve to lose his brother. And Gerry didn’t deserve his mother. But someone had to be Mary Keay’s son, and so here he was. 

Fucked up from a lifetime of being warned of monsters, of being bait _for_ monsters, of hearing the rest of humanity described as cannon fodder, and knowing just how easily he might fall into that category, had he failed the impossible and unknown quest he was tasked with. Of being scolded for getting close enough to danger for it to leave a scar, despite the fact that he was only in its sight because of her. At some point, he had learned better than to beg to leave, but he had never stopped wishing for a safer home.

But he had that now and turns out, it didn’t help that much. Safety meant nothing when he still couldn’t convince his mind the battle was won.

“We shouldn’t be getting into this with Mike here,” Gerry says abruptly. “He doesn’t need me freaking out on him on top of everything else that’s gone wrong today. I probably sound so whiny. Jesus.”

Mike lifts his head, then tilts it back. That’s… probably a ‘no?’ That’s good, at least.

“Oh,” Gerry says. “When you said book—were you thinking of _Ex Altiora?_ Because I kind of, uh, burned that. Sorry. Some guy tried to sell it to Mum, but she freaked him out, so I went to his flat to get it.”

Mike doesn’t respond, except to lift his head again.

“Don’t ask me who found it,” Gerry adds. “I hadn’t slept in at least two days when I went over. Only thing I could think about was getting the book and trying not to fall asleep where I stood.”

“Oh my gosh,” Kira says. They don’t ask for context, though, so Gerry doesn’t offer it.

“Yeah, I wasn’t having a great day. Or week. Or year, honestly.”

“I think I’ve heard Basil say the exact same thing about high school.”

“Yeah, well, I had too much teenage angst for it to go away just because I grew up.”

“Teenage angst is eternal,” Kira agrees. “Oh, damn. I’ve got to go now. You guys gonna be okay?”

“Kira, I’m _fine,”_ Gerry says. “I think Mike’s feeling a bit better, too.”

“I’m allowed to worry about my friends,” Kira replies, a bit stubbornly.

“And your friends appreciate it,” Gerry tells them. “But we’ll be fine. Don’t let us keep you.”

Kira hesitates. 

“Sometimes it helps to find something about it you didn’t hate,” they say. “I can’t—I mean, the smell of dirt makes me want to hurl, but I still love flowers. You still have those gems, don’t you? They were formed by the earth, too, and even the people who don’t believe in their power know how beautiful they are. I don’t know. Just… good luck, I guess.”

Gems?

Oh, right. The ones he had taken from Basira. He had shown Kira, just to see if they could guess what kind they were based off of color alone, though now he was regretting taking any thing of hers into his home. Maybe that was the wrong way to look at it. Maybe those grounding crystals were just something else he had rescued from her grasp.

“Thanks, Kira,” Gerry says. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He spends the next hour operating mainly on instinct. Mike needs a bath, so Gerry helps him into the tube and washes his hair. There’s no washer in his flat, so Gerry just dunks Mike’s clothes in a bucket and hangs them up to dry. Mike’s too small to really fit into any of Gerry’s trousers, so he’s stuck wearing an almost comically oversized shirt. He smells like Gerry’s shampoo. Not ozone. Gerry’s not sure if he should be worrying about that.

Once that’s done, Gerry finds himself in his kitchen and sits Mike down in a nearby chair. There’s not much else he can do now, except make something to eat. Even if Mike doesn’t feel like feeding the Vast, he should at least feed his stomach. Was pizza the best way to reintroduce someone to the concept of food? Probably not. But Mike’s hands were shaking too much to use a fork, and it was what Gerry had in his fridge.

“I didn’t really expect to see you again,” Gerry admits. 

“I think I was avoiding you,” Mike says slowly. He almost looks better now, but Gerry still catches him flinching at the small sounds that were an unavoidable part of city living, and he digs his nails deeper and deeper into his arm with every bird song and car horn that disrupts their fragile sense of peace.

“You think?” Gerry asks.

“Someone told me you were burning Leitners,” Mike tells him. “And I… wasn’t.”

“So you’re too cool and evil to be my friend, then?” Gerry jokes. Mike snorts.

“Hardly,” he says. “It’s not that I thought you weren’t looking into. We both made a choice on who we wanted to be. Think we would have ended up avoiding each other anyway. No reason to make it more difficult.”

“You know, you could have just said you wanted to avoid my mum,” Gerry says. “That’s plenty good of an excuse on its own.”

“I don’t know if I ever really thought about her,” Mike says. “So. Tim?”

“He’s an archival assistant, unfortunately.”

“Ah.”

“I know,” Gerry groans. “It’s my own fault for getting involved.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Mike says.

“The thing is, he knows how to quit,” Gerry says. “I’m not, you know, trying to fool myself. He is going to leave. There’s just… something he has to do first.”

“Is there now?” Mike asks carefully. Gerry frowns.

“It’s not an excuse, believe me,” he says. “We have something planned. Only reason I’m not telling you is because of who we’re going against.”

Mike raises an eyebrow.

“Do you think you’ll win?”

“I can’t let myself think anything else,” Gerry says. “So. What’s _your_ plan?”

“Uh,” Mike says. He scratches his arm.

“I mean, you can stay here,” Gerry adds quickly. “It’s not a problem. But if you want me to drop you off with a Fairchild…”

Mike shakes his head.

“They’re not really the kind of people who care about nursing someone back to health,” he says.

“Togetherness probably kind of defeats the point of your whole alone-in-the-cosmos deal,” Gerry agrees.

“There’s a reason no one came looking for me,” Mike says with a shrug. Gerry knows that it’s not a sign that he doesn’t care, though he’s doing a very good job acting like his loneliness means nothing to him. “It’s not really fun to worry about someone, so they don’t. The Fairchilds know better than to expect constant communication from me, and they don’t usually care enough to reach out. If it had been a full year, Jude might’ve noticed, but she’s not about to show up to my flat to look for me.”

Mike’s expression twists suddenly.

“I don’t have my keys,” he says. “Shit.”

“I can pick locks?”

“Right. Of course,” Mike says. His expression doesn’t change. “So silly of me, not to have been prepared for a break-in like that.”

Gerry glances at his oven, then back at Mike.

“Do you… want to talk about it…?” Gerry asks carefully.

“You know I’m not much of a fan of talking,” Mike says. He hesitates. “I actually didn’t mind it, when the Archivist made me. It felt… strange, having my thoughts brought to the surface so clearly. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. I planned on sending him out with a warning, telling him that he couldn’t expect everyone else to be so kind. It’s so funny to think that I was punished for that, of all things. I’ve sent people hurling towards their doom. I’ve killed. But the moment I think, ‘Well, this Archivist bloke isn’t that bad,’ _that’s_ when I’m shot down.”

Mike squeezes his arm tighter and laughs.

“I woke up choking on dirt,” he says. “I was—I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t heal from that kind of wound, not without the fresh air. So I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel it. But I knew it was pressing down on me and that there would be no escape.”

Mike lets out a shaky breath and releases his arm. Gerry can see the marks his nails leave. Gerry sets down a plate of pizza next to him. Mike smiles—an act of politeness that does nothing to disguise the storm inside his mind—then sighs again once he realizes the amount of effort the simple act of eating will take him.

“What day is it?” Mike says suddenly.

“September 28,” Gerry says. “I think Yom Kippur starts soon.”

Mike snorts.

“Two days,” he says. “Well, one, technically. Not sure how much I have to atone for. I didn’t have any time to make mistakes.”

Gerry gives an awkward shrug. 

“There’s always next year,” he offers.

“Inspirational,” Mike tells him. There’s a pause as Gerry eats some of his pizza. Mike takes a small bite, then starts removing the cheese from the dough. After a moment, he speaks again. “I think you should make the cover for that book.”

Gerry snorts in surprise.

“You don’t even know what my art looks like,” he tells him.

“I don’t,” Mike agrees. “I just think it’d be funny.”

 _“Funny?”_ Gerry repeats.

“Your mother would hate it,” Mike clarifies. Gerry laughs. 

“So I should get a job to spite my mum?” Gerry asks. Mike shrugs.

“Might as well use your issues to be productive,” he says.

“Is that what you do?”

“Oh, yes,” Mike says. “There’s quite a lot of openings in the job market for adults who’ve spent their entire childhoods being chased down by an incomprehensible monster. Quite lucky for me, actually, since I haven’t shown up to work in six months.”

Gerry’s not sure how serious Mike is about the job thing, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he watches as Mike breaks the crust of his pizza.

“I’ve been gone for six months,” Mike says, as though he’s just realizing it. “I’m not sure if I have anything to go back to. Everything’s moved on without me.”

“When does the lease run out on your flat?” Gerry asks.

“I don’t remember,” Mike says. He breaks the crust into smaller pieces. “I think it might’ve already. I left my wallet there. I left everything.”

He starts breathing faster.

“I didn’t expect to be attacked in my own home,” Mike says, voice raising slightly. “I didn’t expect to be shot. I didn’t even think we’d be talking for more than an hour. But that wasn’t how it happened, and I’m here now, and everything’s—”

“Mike,” Gerry says softly. “It’s okay.”

“She knows where you _live,”_ Mike insists. “She can come back. She _will._ She’ll want another hunt. That’s all they ever want. And she knows how to track me down. I don’t know what she ever wanted from me, unless she only cares about making me run. I can barely feel my legs. She’ll catch me, Gerard. You wouldn’t be able to stop her.”

“I know,” Gerry admits. He hates that Mike is right. There’s nothing Gerry can say to calm him. What the hell does Mike care that Daisy wants to do better? How was he supposed to trust that? All Mike knew about Daisy was that she had assaulted him in the safety of his own home. There was no apology that could make up for that, especially not when Mike had spent so many years desperately searching for a place unweathered by storms. “But I’ve got some powerful friends now. And they’re not going to let anything happen to me. Or us. And—the woman who brought you here? Basira. She’s tied to the Institute. No one she’s working with is going to help her if they hurt us, and she’s the only thing the cop cares about.”

“And after that?” Mike demands.

“How do we know there’ll be an after?” Gerry shoots back. “It’s dangerous work. You could get lucky. It might kill her.”

“And we know so many people that _stay_ dead,” Mike scoffs, but he settles back into his chair. He’s far from calm, but the look on his face says he’s willing to accept it as a problem for the future. Mike had always been good at compartmentalizing. Not a compliment, just a fact. G-d, Gerry wished there was something he could do to help. “Right. I suppose I should call my landlord. He’s probably not too happy with the state I’ve left everything in. I’m sure Simon would pay for a new place, if I asked, but then I’ll have to give him some kind of explanation of why I need it. I’m sure he’ll find the situation hilarious.”

Gerry and Mike both make a face at that.

“Still,” Mike continues. “It’s not hopeless. I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

That night, Callum Brodie wakes up in the dark. He gets out of bed, pulls on a jacket, then walks downstairs.

He’s not sure why he’s awake until he gets to his front door and sees the woman standing behind it. He thinks he knows who she is, but it’s hard to tell when she looks more like a smudge in the doorway than a real person. There’s an outline of a body, but he has to squint to make any sense of it. She’s wearing a dress, he thinks. No coat. Maybe the weather just doesn’t bother her.

“Hello,” Manuela says. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Callum considers this for a moment. 

“Are you going to kidnap me?” he asks.

“Of course not,” Manuela says. She sounds upset that he’d even think that, but _she’s_ the one who was going on about darkness and holiness the last time they met. Callum doesn’t think she can blame him for wanting to be careful. He’s not as stupid as he used to be. He knows now. He _knows._

“I have something to discuss with you,” Manuela tells him. “An apology. We can speak here, if you’d like. I only need a moment of your time.”

Huh.

“Gerry trusts you,” Callum decides. He takes Manuela’s hand and leads her inside, closing the door behind her. “So you’re alright for now, I guess. But only as long as you don’t try anything funny.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Manuela says sincerely.

“Good,” Callum says. He pauses. “D’you want some tea? All we’ve got is camomile. It’s Mum’s favorite.”

“I’m alright, thank you,” Manuela says as they make their way to the couch. “But could you leave the light off?”

Callum really doesn’t want to, but he wants to explain that even less. At least in the dark, Manuela couldn’t see how much it pains him to agree.

“Thank you,” Manuela says. She follows him to a couch. “I… I am sorry for how I introduced myself, truly. I have not been around humans in a long time. I’ve forgotten that conversations require some explanation. Thank you for giving me the opportunity for that.”

“Did they kidnap you, too?” Callum asks. Manuela pauses for a moment.

“No,” she says firmly. “My mistakes were made of my own free will.”

“Oh,” Callum says. He’s not sure why she’s being so dramatic about it. “Alright.”

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Manuela tells him. She gestures toward a window. “There are no watchers here, save for the stars in the sky. And even those lights can be extinguished, leaving us with nothing but our memories of how things once were. I cannot see you, Callum Brodie. Your form now is nothing but your own design. You can declare yourself to be anything, and I will have no choice but to take you for your word. Tell me, child. Who are you when no stars are watching?”

Callum hesitates. A part of him wants to ask what she’s talking about, but the weird thing is, he kind of gets it. Lately, all everyone tells him is how bad he is. He doesn’t mean to be, but that doesn’t stop all his teachers from talking about his mum like she’s some kind of saint, for putting up with a troublemaker like him.

 _“You’re breaking your poor mother's heart, Callum Brodie,”_ they say. He gets it. He _knows._ It’s not right to push kids around just because they’re smaller than him, but he can’t stop himself. He needs to know he’s not the only one with a fear this terrible and suffocating. He needs to know he’s not alone. But no matter how many kids he scared, he never found one who _got_ it. He could always see it in their faces when they got out of whatever dark corner he shoved them into. The fear just… wasn’t the same. Callum doesn’t think he’ll ever stop wishing that he could get over it as easily as they could. He’d give anything to live a life where all he needed to heal was a hug and a good cry, but it’s not that simple. 

At least the fear in their eyes is better than the looks of disgust his own classmates give him. To them, he’s not anything to be afraid of. He’s just Callum Brodie, the weirdo who falls asleep in class and flinches when they get too close. Callum doesn’t think it’s funny, but it’s not like there’s much he can do about that. When _he_ screams in fear, the teachers never seem to care. Maybe they think he deserves it. Maybe they’re scared of him, too. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. What he does know, though, is that he’s tired of being that Callum Brodie. He’d say he’s tired of being misunderstood, but a part of him is glad for it. They don’t know him. _Good._ They’ve all lost their right to try.

Manuela doesn’t think he’s a bad kid. At least, Callum thinks she doesn’t. He doubts she’d come over if she thought he was a lost cause. And yeah, she’s being _super_ weird about it, but… But maybe it’d be nice to be honest. Just this once.

And maybe in the dark, Manuela won’t be able tell how much he means it.

“I have loads of muscles,” Callum informs Manuela. “A cool coat, too. Like Gerry’s, but with spikes all over. Anyone tries to touch me, and it pokes a hole in them. Like, a _really_ big one, blood gushing out and everything.”

“Oh?” Manuela sounds amused. “Does that mean I’m in the line of fire?”

“You’re okay,” Callum says, after a moment of consideration. “The spikes know we’re pals, so they let you get closer. But not _too_ close. Because, uh, they’ve got some poison on them, too. And that’s way more serious than a flesh wound.”

“I see,” Manuela says. “A very intelligent design. You must be very well guarded.”

“I’ve got special eyes, too,” Callum tells her. He’s enjoying this game. Making himself to be the monster is much more fun than scaring kids into thinking there’s one around the corner. “With laser vision. They can blast away anyone who looks at me funny. But they look a little weird, so sometimes people are jerks about. Only I don’t have to care about that, because I can incinerate them til all that’s left is a pile of ashes. And then I’ll scoop it all up and mail them off to their mums, who’ll give them a talking to. And they’ll be _really_ sorry they crossed me.” 

“Delightful,” Manuela says, and means it.

“And, um…,” Callum trails off. “I dunno. What else am I allowed to say?”

“You’re allowed everything,” Manuela tells him. “The entire world is meant for you."

“Well…” Callum thinks for a moment. “I guess scales would be cool. Sometimes, even if you’re super strong, you can’t lift everything. But if you have scales, you can make sure everything bad just bounces off of you. And I bet they feel _really cool.”_

Manuela laughs, but it’s a nice laugh. She looks at him, suddenly serious.

“And now that you have spoken your truth, you may carry it with you,” she says. The way she says it makes it sound like a magic spell. “It may vanish in the light, but it will not leave your heart.”

“What about you?” Callum asks, feeling suddenly bold. “Who are you right now?”

“I…” Manuela sighs. “I _used_ to be the Thaumaturge. I was beautiful and holy and revered for my wisdom. And then my church was destroyed. Felled by our own eagerness to invoke a new era. I do not know who I am when I am not fed by their sermons. All I can do is comfort myself with the ruins of what has once been, and pray the mistakes of the past never again become a reality.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Manuela agrees. “But all is not lost. Through these mistakes, I found you. I assumed you would be in desperate need of my help, but this does not seem to be true. You are on a path towards understanding. In another life, I would call that a blessing. But now, I know that all roads must only be taken after careful consideration. Do not fear the darkness, Callum Brodie, but do not love it, either. It will not give you what you need.”

“And you will?” Callum can’t help but snort. He’s had enough of adults promising him safety. His mum had promised it, too. She used to say it every time she mentioned his dad, like that was always the obvious end of the sentence. It was never just _“your father was a bastard,”_ but _“your father was a bastard,”_ and _“I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”_

He knows his mum cares. He was young when his parents divorced—like, _really_ young—but he knows it was for him. Mum wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him, not even his own dad. Maybe that was why the way she was now sometimes felt like a betrayal.

“I can’t help anyone,” Manuela says. She sounds kind of sad. Callum feels a little bad about that, actually. “Daylight has proven toxic for me. If you call for me then, I will not be able to answer. I can only reach you during the twilight hours.”

Callum kicks his legs out in front of him a few times before answering.

“I don’t mind,” he says. That’s the only time he’d need protection, anyways. Callum’s not interested in a guardian angel. He doesn’t need some lady in wings following him around, telling him that he’s got to be better or something like that. He knows how to be a good person. He’s just not doing it. Callum thinks what he really wants is a monster. Someone just as bad as him. If he wants to be safe in the dark, he’s got to have someone around who can fight off everything in it. Angels don’t hide in the dark, they just try and bring you out of it. But Callum’s not getting out of this dark and Manuela knows that better than anyone. 

It’s like Pokemon, kind of. Only one you can trust to beat a monster is a stronger one. So if Gerry’s wrong, and that weird cult comes back… 

“Dark’s the only place I need protecting, anyway,” Callum adds. He tugs on his jacket zipper. Callum’s not used to this kind of honesty, but he’s more scared of the thing that tried to take him than he is worried about Manuela calling him a wimp for admitting it.

“Then I would be honored to provide assistance,” Manuela says. “As of now, I am the most terrifying creature in London’s shadows. It will be easy for me to ensure your safety. And so it will be done.”

“Cool,” Callum says. It sounds kind of obvious when Manuela says it. Like there’s nothing more to it than that. Manuela’s bigger and meaner than everyone else, and she wants him to stay safe. And that’s what Callum wants, too. And so it will be done.

It’s too bad that she can’t help him during the day, though. She could come around when a teacher tells him off for something stupid, like wiggling in his seat, and pop out of the shadows and scare his teacher so bad she has to cancel class forever. It’s a fun thought.

Callum sees the lights turn on behind him. He stands.

“Callum?” his mum calls. “What are you doing awake?”

Callum turns to face her. She looks worried, but there’s no surprise there. She’s always worried. And it always worries _him._ Callum wishes he could tell her how much her fear infects him, but the venom’s already running its course. He shouldn’t have trusted Manuela so quickly. He doesn’t know her. She’s a stranger, and a monster. Powerful enough to hurt him, if she wanted.

And he let her into his home.

But she’s not here, now. The light must have scared her off. Probably for the best, honestly. He’s not really sure how he’d explain her to Mum.

Callum shrugs in response.

“I was just thinking about some stuff,” he says. It’s kind of the truth. Mum squints suspiciously at the space beside Callum, but she’s too tired to question it. No surprise there. Work’s always kept her busy, but worrying about him’s taking a lot out of her now, too.

“You have school tomorrow,” she reminds him gently. She walks over towards him and ruffles his hair. Callum can’t remember the last time she’s done that. “If you’re going to be sitting in the dark, you can do it in your bed. Unless you want me to make tea?”

Callum shakes his head.

“I’m alright,” he says. He looks behind him. Still no Manuela. Callum takes his mother’s hand. “We can go now.”

Mum smiles at that.

“Well, just as long as you’re good and ready,” she teases. Callum rolls his eyes.

“I am,” he says. He puts a hand on his hip. “You should go to bed, Mum, you’ve got work in the morning. It’s not healthy to be up this late, you know.”

Mum laughs. Callum tugs her away from the couch, walking them out of the dark and back towards their rooms.

“Goodnight Callum,” Mum whispers as he climbs into bed. “You’ll be alright, won’t you?”

“Think so,” Callum replies. He draws his blankets close. “G’night, Mum.”

She shuts off the light and Callum stares at the ceiling. There’s no stars in his room. Nothing to hide the overwhelming darkness that surrounds him. Nothing to protect him but the torch on his nightstand, and Manuela’s promise.

He thinks he might be alright with that, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to split this chapter because it got too long. oops!  
> Also, Yom Kippur 2017 was September 30th. I may not be perfect about my timelines, but I promise you I know the dates of holidays (I looked it up). Hope everyone who participated this year had a meaningful fast
> 
> Up next: More Mike! And the final stages of a plan


	11. Story Spinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang looks into Annabelle Cane. And, more importantly, Mike gets an apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: MAG 123  
> supplemental reading: MAG 69

Technically, Mike still has a flat, but it’s not one he wants to go back to. He doesn’t say it, but Gerry can tell. That’s fine. Gerry wouldn’t want to be alone, either. He saves Mike the pain of asking and offers him a place to stay. 

Honestly, Gerry would have offered him a room anyway. He doesn’t want Mike dealing with his asshole landlord any more than he has to.

The man sold some of Mike’s stuff, which he says is because he assumed he wasn’t coming back and okay, yeah, he couldn’t have known, but he still holds the rest of Mike’s things hostage until Mike promises to pay for damages or whatever so Gerry thinks he has plenty reason to hate him anyway. He complains about property damage and throws a fit over the phone about thieves who apparently came by because the door had been left unlocked. Mike’s pretty sure the only things that were stolen were his, so he’s not sure why it matters, but he agrees to pay just to end the conversation.

They don’t do that right away, though. Obviously. Mikes in no mood to leave Gerry’s flat, especially not for so little reward. And Melanie’s lending him some clothes—and some unsold merch, both of Ghost Hunt Uk and What The Ghost, which Gerry is sure Mike hates—so really, there’s no rush.

Also, Tim brings over an air mattress for him to sleep on.

It’s a weird first meeting. Tim and Mike are kind of aggressively polite when they greet each other, but in a way that says they clearly haven’t forgotten what the other was involved in.

“So,” Mike says, once he’s done exchanging pleasantries. “I hear your boss almost got me killed.”

“Well, in his defense,” Tim replies easily. “A phrase I hate to say, let me tell you—but I don’t think anyone told him the cops were after him.”

“Georgie did,” Melanie says. “They came around her place asking questions.”

“Oh, okay,” Tim says. “Yeah, definitely his fault, then. Wait, did Georgie lie to the cops for Jon?”

“Probably,” Melanie says proudly.

“Hm _,”_ Mike says. He looks at Tim. “You’re dating Gerry. What’s that like?”

“Everything I could ask for,” Tim says. “Why?”

Mike shrugs. Gerry clears his throat. He can feel himself going a bit red, and desperately hopes the hair he’s using as a curtain hides this. He knows it doesn’t. Melanie’s giving him a look.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tim asks. “You looking for revenge, or…?”

“Considering I can only stand for about five minutes without my legs giving out, I think revenge might have to wait,” Mike replies dryly. “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t blame an underling for an avatar’s mistakes. You’re safe.”

“I don’t know how worried I can be about someone I could throw over my shoulder,” Tim responds. Mike flips him off.

A few days later, Gerry calls Tim up to help them get Mike’s things. It’s not a lot of work, but it’s too much for Gerry on his own, and _way_ too much for Mike. Tim reminds Gerry about his own chronic pain—his scars didn’t always ache, but he was definitely feeling it today—so they end up bringing Melanie along as well. When she gets to Gerry’s flat, he sees that she’s brought a wheelchair with her.

For Mike, she says. 

Mike doesn’t want it. He says he can get by just fine.

“You don’t have to keep it,” Melanie tells him. “I mean, you can’t. It’s my friend Indira’s. She just doesn’t need it when she’s using her prosthetic, and she usually goes for that instead, so she’s alright with having you take it for a spin. Might not be super helpful, because of your whole…”

Mike stares at her.

“It was bought for someone without a leg,” Melanie says. “So. Different issues. But hey, at least it means it’ll make things a little easier.”

The look on Mike’s face says he’d rather just have a body that didn’t feel like a lead balloon than a device meant to keep him going.

“I mean, it’s just a suggestion,” Melanie says. “You don’t have to go along with it just because I think it’ll be easier.”

Mike doesn’t respond right away. The look on his face doesn’t betray any hesitation, but Gerry can feel it building within him all the same. Gerry wants to tell him that it’s okay. He already fought so hard to survive, but there was no reason to keep struggling. Still, he gets it. It’s never that easy. If Mike can’t stand the thought of a sedentary body, Gerry will help him find another way to reach the sky.

“Just for today,” Mike decides. “You can take it when you leave.”

“Sure,” Melanie says.

Melanie, of course, does most of the packing. Gerry can carry most things just fine, but too much walking back and forth’ll hurt his knees, so he mainly just keeps Mike company. Tim lifts, like, two paintings, and then three of them end up cheering Melanie on as she shoves the rest of Mike’s things in Tim’s car

At some point during all of this, Tim mentions his hearing loss, which prompts Mike to open up a bit about his own experience with his bad ear. He offers to teach Tim some basic signs, but Mike’s still getting used to the idea of consciousness. He’s not really ready for this many hours of excitement.

Melanie leaves a little after Mike excuses himself for a nap. She doesn’t take the chair with her. She says her arms are too tired to drag it all the way back home. 

“Sure,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother calling her out on the lie. “Thanks for the help.”

As far as healing, though, there’s not really much that can be done. Now that Mike has his phone back, Gerry can give him Kira’s number, which makes him happier, but not _better._ Gerry’s not sure what to do about the state his body’s in. There’s only so much a trip to the doctor can help, especially when the problem’s mainly supernatural, and Mike doesn’t want to bother. He says there’s probably a Fairchild that used to practice medicine, and that he’ll ask for advice next time he talks to Simon and, sure, fine, but that doesn’t really help _now,_ Mike.

There’s also the fact that doctors generally test neuropathy with EMGs. It seemed unlikely that a doctor would see the state Mike’s in and not suggest something like that, even if it’s just to establish some sort of baseline or whatever, but Gerry doesn’t think Mike needs any more electric shocks in his life.

Really, the only thing Mike can do is try to strengthen his limbs and hope his connection to the Vast is still strong enough to give him an easy recovery, though he’s not sure how likely that is. Gerry knows Mike’s more about vertigo than skies, but sometimes, when Mike flicks his wrist, it looks as though he’s waiting for the wind to follow. 

Jon texts Gerry as soon as he finds out that Mike’s back to ask if he could come around to apologize. 

“He’s welcome to try,” Mike says, so that’s what Jon does.

It’s almost painful, watching Jon fiddle with the grip of his cane as he tries to stammer out an explanation. Mike watches him from Gerry’s couch with a distant look in his eyes.

“When I went to you, I knew nothing,” Jon says. “And that’s not—it’s no excuse, but I want you to know I was desperate. A man I barely knew told me not to trust my superior, a man I had worked under for _years,_ and was then murdered for it—a murder the world believed I committed! I was vaguely aware of the existence of the supernatural, and that they were a particular danger to me specifically, but I had no idea why, just that Elias had killed the only person who tried to help. When I met you, I thought you were my only chance to learn _anything._ Jude had given me your information, but had claimed a hand in the process, a hand I _still_ haven’t regained full movement of. I had no doubt a meeting with you would harm me, but—”

Jon stops abruptly and twists a ring around his finger.

“I didn’t know Daisy was looking for me,” he says. “I had an inkling that _someone_ must have been—but I didn’t know what she would do. I’m not sure I realized what I was asking you for, but honestly, I didn’t think much of it. All I wanted was an answer. I didn’t realize that the consequences would be so dire.”

Mike stares at him. Jon flinches and looks down at his cane.

“That’s a nice apology,” Mike says. “It does make me feel a bit better.”

Jon slumps his shoulders, relieved. 

“I don’t think I can forgive you,” Mike adds. “It’s not your fault that she wanted me dead, but you’re still the one who led her to me. If you asked me for help, I might have listened. I would have understood if you needed a place to hide. But, instead, you asked me about my scar. Imagine my surprise when I finally have the chance to sleep for the first time in months, and suddenly, I’m a child again. And _you’re_ there.”

“I didn’t know you’d dream of me,” Jon says. “I’m sorry.”

Mike shrugs.

“It doesn’t make for an easy recovery,” he says. “Even when I hide, I know you’re still there. I promised myself to the sky. But I’m thinking about the clouds again. Because of you. So, no, I won’t forgive you. I’m sorry if this ruins your high holiday plans.”

Jon shrinks back at Mike’s talk of the sky, but brightens at the mention of holidays.

“I know I can’t make up for any of what I’ve done,” he says. “But if you’d like someone to accompany you to services…”

Mike laughs.

“Because that’s what I need right now,” he says. “To apologize for what a mess I’ve made of the year.”

“I suppose atonement must feel strange for you,” Jon begins. Mike stops laughing.

“Why?” he asks. “Because I’ve hurt people? Haven’t you?”

“You told me you didn’t even remember a man you _killed!”_ Jon replies, then covers his mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean this as an accusation, I just…”

“I regret everyone I’ve killed,” Mike says, like he’s surprised Jon could think otherwise. “Even when I don’t remember them. Even though I’d do it again. I love what I am now, but don’t forget, I first gave myself to the Vast to survive. I don’t kill because I _like_ it, I just won’t ignore my hunger. I wouldn’t blame you for doing the same, but it was very rude of you to come to my house and ask for a meal.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Jon says. Mike raised an eyebrow and Jon sighed. “Not the point, of course. Whatever my intentions were, you still have to live with the consequences. I’m sorry. Technically, you _could_ stop the dreams by joining the Institute, but—”

“No,” Mike interrupted. Jon nodded. He’d expected as much.

“I’ve never seen Jude in my dreams,” he offers. “I don’t know how she’s managed to avoid me, but if she’s your friend…”

“‘Friends’ might be pushing it a bit,” Mike says. “But I’m not surprised. I doubt she would have agreed to see you if she thought you could inspire fear.”

He doesn’t bother explaining how that’s related to the dreams. After a small pause, Jon speaks again.

“Is it worth it?” he asks hesitantly. “Can you really just decide that your life is more important than the suffering you cause?”

“Yes,” Mike says. Jon stares, but Mike doesn’t offer any more of an explanation. That’s fine. He shouldn’t have to justify himself to them. Gerry really didn’t want him to, honestly. It was easier to think of Mike as just his friend than as an avatar of the Vast.

“Sometimes, it’s just about finding out what you can live with,” Gerry offers. 

“Then I think we have a very different idea of what counts for that,” Jon tells him. He hesitates. “Do you think… if I… _quit,_ would…?”

“Yeah,” Gerry says. He doesn’t even have to think about that one. “I mean, if you’re not part of the Institute, you’re not their Archivist, even if you’re still something. Stands to reason that no more archiving means no more dreams. But only if you really remove yourself from it. You can’t just undo the choices that you made. Long as you can watch, the Eye’ll want you for something.”

“Right,” Jon takes in a breath. “Then I suppose that’s my next step. After our… plan. Or during, if that’s how things must be.”

Gerry eyes him carefully. Mike mirrors the gesture.

It’s not that Gerry’s surprised by Jon’s decision. It seemed unlikely that they’d all make it out without anyone losing their sight, and if that was the case, Jon was definitely going blind. But making the decision to remove your own sight was different than having it being an assumed collateral.

“If you do that…” Mike trails off. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll see how I feel then.”

According to Melanie, Daisy’s been asking about Mike. She wants to know how he is. The Buried wasn’t too tough on her body, honestly, not when she had the Hunt to fall back on, but she expects it’s different for someone like Mike.

Basira has questions for him, too. She wants to know about Annabelle.

Gerry tells Melanie that he’ll never forgive Daisy if she tries to talk to Mike, but, yeah, relatively speaking, he’s doing alright. Then he reminds her about the Annabelle Cane fact sheet he put together with Jon which Gerry _knows_ Tim already told her about. Not his fault she had more important things to take care of.

It wasn’t too hard to find out more about her, especially with all the information they had from statements. Apparently, she had a website going for a while. Called herself the _story-spinner._ She’d help you out, but for a price. The people visiting the site had to spin their own stories. Convince her that their pain was worth an intervention. More specifically, that their story was worth someone else’s death. The story didn’t even have to be related. It just had to hurt.

And of course, the story wasn’t the only price. Anyone who asked for her help ended up turning into a spider themselves. And of _course_ Annabelle found herself the most passive programmer in the world to help create the damn thing.

She made a man dance to the death once, too. The weird puppet-freak had wanted it, but somehow, that just made it worse. The people coming to her site probably thought they wanted it, too. Gerry doubts that Neil Lagorio had expected to be wrapped in so many spiderwebs after his death. He knows Carlos Vittery didn’t, at least. 

He doesn't know Annabelle, not really. Whatever reason she has for doing all of this is lost to him. All he knows that in terms of fear, Annabelle had a feast.

The most useful thing they’ve got is a statement about her becoming. Nothing much about her in it, really, other than how much she freaked out a cleaner, but it gives them the name of her university. Pretty easy to start building back from there.

Annabelle had grown up in Hunstanton. A beach town. Tim had ended up going by to see if any of her old neighbors remembered her. Not much luck with that. Only one woman really remembered the Canes, and she didn’t know that much about Annabelle.

Girl kept to herself, she said. 

Few minutes later, though, the woman insists that Annabelle Cane had always been a bit of an attention-seeker, even as a child. Everyone had assumed she’d try her luck at acting, but she never did.

Except, of course, Melanie finds footage from her old uni’s theatre department. Annabelle’s only in one video. Part of a series of monologues from a show called _Almost, Maine._ It feels _almost_ fitting.

None of the actors Martin talked to really remember her, though. They’re sure she was there, they _know_ that, but the experiment made her… distant. Ended up dropping out of one of their productions. Said she was too tired to pretend to feel any emotion that wasn’t her own.

It’s not that they don’t remember her, it’s just that the way they do feels off. Gerry’s not sure if it’s just that they don’t want to talk about the school scandal, or if the distance from it has shifted everything in their minds—or if Annabelle herself shifted them—but whatever it is, they don’t tell Martin anything too helpful.

She was nice, they say. Quiet, too. A good actress, though she would have made an even better director. She knew what people wanted to see, you know?

They should have talked to her more, before everything. They wish they remember her better, but well, Annabelle Cane wasn’t their friend. She was just a girl they knew.

Gerry’s not sure how much all that matters now. Everything he finds out about Annabelle Cane, the person makes him feel so _bad_ for her, but everything he knows about Annabelle Cane, avatar of the Web, makes him suspicious as hell. But, unfortunately, he’s not sure how much time they have to worry about that. They’ve been sitting on everything long enough that if they don’t move soon, they won’t get the chance. Now that everyone's got their casts off and Tim’s starting to get used to his hearing aids, there’s not much of a reason to keep waiting, and Daisy’s managed to get enough plastic explosives to blow up the Institute and then some. Plus, Martin thinks Peter’s getting suspicious.

What that means, though, is that they’ve really got to start preparing. And listening to more of Gertrude’s tapes. If there’s anything in _any_ of them that could help, they have to find it. Gerry’s really starting to get tired of her voice.

The leftover tapes are split up between everyone but Tim, who feels like he _could_ listen, but just doesn’t want to, and Mike, who refuses to make this his problem—though does tell Gerry to let him know if they find anything funny. Even Daisy and Manuela listen to a few, though Manuela says she’s only doing this to spare Gerry from “further corruption by the vile watcher.” He thinks this means they’re friends now, which is a little funny, since clearly, that hasn’t changed how she feels about the Eye. But, hey, where else was she going to find another trans goth with parent issues worse than her’s _and_ who was willing to get into theological debates about the supernatural? Nowhere, that’s where. Though, now that he said that, Mike probably came pretty close. Especially since he’s still borrowing Melanie’s clothes. He had asked Gerry if he thought there’d be any repercussions for not taking any T shots for six months, and it was Manuela’s firm opinion that the answer to that came down to whether or not it was a coma, or just stasis, but, see, if it was just some kind of time bubble, then why were Mike’s limbs so busted? Also, Mike was pretty sure he had a black eye when he went into the ground, and not when he went out, so, _clearly,_ something had changed. 

They had yet to reach an agreement, but Manuela was also of the opinion that if your deity can’t grant you free hormones for a few months, it’s not worth worshipping, but the Vast seemed cool, so he was probably, like, fine.

Anyways, more importantly, the tapes really aren’t anything new. There’s a few hints that Gertrude might have figured out a way to get to the center of the tunnels, which means they’re on the right track, but there’s not enough to find the path she used.

Also, Gerry finds a tape recorded by his dad, but like, _actually_ him this time, which is a relief. It’s just a statement, but it’s funny as hell to hear him gripe about being forced to do a recording because Gertrude’s out. Mike and Gerry crack themselves up over Dad’s supplemental, which insists that since he’s doing Gertrude’s job, he doesn’t have to do his own. He tells the tape he’s going to say that the statement giver went out to tea and had a polite chat with someone he _thought_ was a monster, but it was all just a misunderstanding, actually. There’s a second supplemental that clicks on after that that begins with him saying, more than somewhat dejected, “They didn’t go out to tea.”

Is it bad if he says listening to the tapes is way less stressful than worrying about Basira? Probably. But it’s definitely the truth. They don’t talk to each other at all through all of this, and it’s a relief. He doesn’t even have to worry about her being mysteriously gone from his life. He knows what she’s doing this time. Gerry really doesn’t think she can do any harm listening to the tapes. Not the one’s he’s seen, anyways. She definitely has a way of corrupting the knowledge he gives her, but—well, he’s already decided not to worry about that. 

In between all this, Mike and Gerry celebrate Sukkot. Okay, _Mike_ celebrates. Gerry has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He thinks it’s a harvest holiday? It’s supposed to last about a week. He knows that much.

Kira says that normally, you’re supposed to shake some palm leaves with a special type of lemon or something and build a hut outside. He’s not sure what the deal with the lemon is. Kira tells him the lemons are friends with the leaves, which is super helpful, thanks Kira. There’s not really too many places to build anything when you live in a flat, though. Kira says some people just make models using gingerbread or something, but they have a personal vendetta against any food that shows up near Christmas time, so they normally just opt for a pillow fort near their balcony instead. Gerry’s not sure he has enough spare blankets for that, and he doesn’t have much of a balcony, being on the ground floor, but Mike insists, so they figure something out.

Mike has the time of his life. Both with the sukkah itself, and bossing Gerry around while they make it. Not a surprise, honestly. Gerry’s just glad for the chance to see his smile. 

Once they’re done, they watch the stars together. Mike doesn’t ask, but Gerry finds himself describing what he sees, anyway. Force of habit, maybe. Still feels the need to tell Mike that there’s no storms brewing today. Mike doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, he tells Gerry he should start memorizing the constellations, if he hasn’t already.

“For your novel,” Mike says. Gerry hums. 

“Got any requests?” he asks. Mike shakes his head.

“Not my field,” he says. “Just make it look good.”

It’s strange to be friends again, after everything. Mike had left his life so quietly that it might’ve been hard to say when exactly it happened, if Gerry had someone else to look forward to. The way Gerry remembers it is simple; Mike had been a part of his life, and then one day he just… wasn’t.

Gerry hadn’t even been sure Mike was alive until he found that book, and even then, a trapped beast wasn’t anything close to conclusive. Hearing Daisy had almost killed him was Gerry’s first real proof of him in years, and that—

Well, it’s not something he blames Mike for. None of it is. 

But it’s nice to have some time that’s just the two of them. Gerry knows some of the others do something for the holiday, too, but he doesn’t get involved. He has a good enough time just spending the week staring at the sky. Somehow, everything just seems easier when they’re both surrounded by starlight.

Also, Callum comes back to the Institute. This time, he’s with his mum. Gerry’s not there, so Tim talks to the kid instead. Callum apparently insists that Gerry _promised_ he’d read his comics and refused to leave until Tim promised to bring Gerry his recommendations. Tim thinks Caroline’s just there to try and figure out why her kid ran off to his work, of all places.

The comics are pretty cool, though. Gerry ends up reading most of them in a day. He tries to explain the plot of the Swamp Thing issues Callum’s lent to Tim and in the process, gets them both kind of invested in the character. Gerry thinks he might’ve seen the movie for it a while back, but doesn’t really remember it. It was made in the 80s, though, so it’s probably campy as hell. He should watch it with Tim sometime.

Also, apparently, Swamp Thing could have sex with someone by giving them fruit? But it’s kind of a hallucination so most people don’t think it counts. Thank you, Kira, for that comic fact.

They do reassure him that Callum probably hasn’t found that issue, but suggest that he might want to talk to his mum about checking the ratings on everything she buys him. Comics were… well, sometimes they were just like that.

Anyways, once Gerry’s finished, he visits Callum to give him back his comics. He sticks doodles of a couple different characters into some of the pages, which Callum seems to approve of. 

“Thanks for stopping by,” Caroline Brodie says. Callum’s gone back to his room to do homework or something, so it’s just the two of them, sitting in her living room. “And for being so kind the first time. I don’t know what you told him, but I think he really appreciated it.”

“I just told him they weren’t coming back,” Gerry replies. He shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of how else to approach this conversation. “I thought he’d appreciate someone telling him he won.”

Caroline’s smile tightens.

“Right,” she says. “I haven’t… we try not to talk about that.”

No wonder Callum was so stressed, then. Not that he could blame her for that when she looked just as worried. The dark circles under her eyes were almost darker than her kid’s.

“Well…” Gerry says carefully. “I think he’d appreciate it if you did.”

“I don’t think he’s appreciated much of what I have to say about it,” Caroline says. She hesitates. “Have you seen his eyes? His pupils… Well, you can see how strange they look. I took him to an optometrist recently. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t losing his sight or that if he was, it wasn’t anything serious. But they didn’t know what to make of it.”

Gerry winces. Unhelpful doctors should be a fear category all on their own.

“I got a second opinion, of course,” Caroline adds. “And a third. But it… none of them could really help us. It wasn’t worth it. He told me it was because of the… because of _them,_ but obviously, that can’t be right, can it?”

Caroline sighs.

“Not that it matters,” she says. “His eyes are fine. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. That wasn’t even the worst of it, honestly. But every time I asked, he was always just… fine. There was no need to keep reminding him of the worst day of his life.”

“That’s the thing,” Gerry tells her. “You can’t lie to him. He knows things are bad. You have to be the one to tell him it gets better.”

She looks away. Gerry gets it. She was scared, too.

Caroline Brodie doesn’t know how to deal with the reality she’s found herself in. But that means she can’t help Callum from going through almost the exact same thing.

Having shared trauma didn’t always mean you could relate to someone. Sometimes it just meant there was a great chasm in both of your lives that you refused to walk across. Caroline Brodie didn’t want to think any more about a world in which her son might be taken away from her, but unfortunately, Callum could remember little else.

“There’s no need to add to his stress,” Caroline replies, but it’s hesitant, like she’s waiting for Gerry to tell her off for being so naive.

“I’m not an expert,” Gerry says. “Do what you think is right. I mean, I barely know the kid. I just don’t think he’s going to believe it’s over if he doesn’t hear it from you.”

Caroline hesitates again.

“I don’t…” she falters. “It doesn’t _feel_ over.”

“Yeah,” Gerry agrees. It never does. “The Archives looked into the People’s Church, though. There’s been no activity since then. No one’s going to any of their churches, not even their main one in Norway. I checked it out myself. It’s completely empty now. All of it.”

Caroline actually laughs at that.

“I don’t know how much better that makes me feel,” she admits. “I don’t know if I like the idea of them being able to just forget about all of it while I’m…”

“Yeah,” Gerry says again. He doesn’t know how much of himself he’s willing to give to this stranger, but, well, he has to tell her _something,_ doesn’t he? No one ever taught her how to heal from things like this, or how to help someone _else_ heal from it, and Gerry knew how hard it can be to learn that on your own. “Dunno if you spotted the scars, but—well, the guy who burned me isn’t around anymore, but his church still is. And I know none of them care how badly it hurt. Probably would be really delighted to hear me complain about it, honestly. Doctors didn’t help much with that, either. But I’m okay with that. I know I put myself in danger by speaking to them. I know they don’t like that I left. But I did. Saved someone else from them, too, kind of. It still hurts, sometimes. But it hurts a lot less when there’s someone around to ask me if I’m okay.”

Gerry kicks at the ground, unsure of what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” Caroline tells him. Gerry shakes his head. He knows she means it, but that just makes it worse. It wasn’t the same with him. He wasn’t the same kind of victim Callum was. Gerry had courted this disaster. He had been prepared for the consequences. Well—he’d been aware they were coming, at least. 

“It was my choice,” Gerry says. “No one forced me to go. I knew they had something they were going to use to hurt other people, so—Christ, that makes me sound so noble. It wasn’t that. My mum wanted it, too. I just didn’t want her to get her hands on it, that’s all.”

Caroline opens her mouth, but Gerry’s already standing up and making his way out the door. He hates sticking around after explanations. He really doesn’t need to hear what she thinks of him after all that.

“I’m just saying, having someone around helps more than you’d think,” he adds. “If he needs someone to talk to—”

“I think you might be able to relate a bit better than me,” Caroline says, walking with him. Oh, does she think _he_ was part of a cult? Kira was going to find that so funny. Not that he could really argue, though. He had technically been part of the Lightless Flame, though it’d only been about a month of false worship. Molina knew he had joined for all the wrong reasons, but they had never officially kicked him out. And of course, there was his mum. “Would you mind if…”

Gerry stares. Caroline looks him over.

“I don’t always have a lot of free time when Callum comes home from school,” Caroline says. “I just—it would help. If I knew there was someone looking out for him every once in a while, you know?”

“I—yeah, I can come by again, sure,” Gerry says, once he realizes what she’s asking. “Probably can’t help with his homework, though. Getting homeschooled didn’t teach me as much as it should.”

There’s a flash of surprise in Caroline’s eyes when he mentions homeschooling, but Gerry’s used to that. Look, being homeschooled didn’t mean you had to look any specific way. It just meant that sometimes, you didn’t realize how weird you were. Gerry knows for a fact he looks exactly like someone who used to be homeschooled. Not his fault that everyone assumed being raised by a religious zealot meant you had to look like one too. Then again, ‘satanist’ was a religion, too.

“Can I have your number?” Caroline asks. “If you come by, I’d like to get to know you a bit better first.”

Oh. She wants someone to talk to.

Gerry wonders if she has any friends. If she did, she probably wouldn’t be so desperate to talk to him, of all people, but she had to have someone, right? People generally didn’t leave abusive relationships if they didn’t have someone they could fall back on. Hard to find a reason to find a new path. Didn’t matter how many pitfalls there were where she was traveling. Things that were familiar always felt safer. 

Then again, Martin had said she divorced her husband years ago. A lot could happen in that time, especially when you’ve got to devote so much of it towards raising a kid. If she had someone, they might’ve not stuck around.

She’s probably around his age. Hard to tell if she’s a little older or if it’s just the stress making it look that way, but it’s a strange realization. The two of them had existed for about the same amount of time, and yet none of those years had looked the same. Caroline and Gerry had only one thing in common, and it was that they both knew how terrifying a home could be.

Gerry considers his next words carefully.

“You should look me up,” he says. “Gerard Keay, not Delano. You’ve had enough surprises, lately. I don’t want to be another one.”

Caroline presses her lips together, but there’s no instant recognition at the name. Gerry almost cries in relief, but suddenly, she’s handing him her mobile.

“I’ll text you when I do,” she tells him.

“You won’t,” Gerry says. “That’s alright, though. There’s other people you can count on. Martin’ll probably give you his number if you ask. They all know what it’s like, honestly. Not just me.”

“I didn’t ask for Martin,” Caroline says. She sounds more worried than confused, but not in the way he expected her to be. Any fear she has is _for_ him, and not… Maybe he’s just not as ominous as he used to be.

“Sure,” Gerry says. He hands her back her phone. “But that doesn’t mean you want me.”

Also, Gerry finally emails Tim's publisher friend. He’s not really _sure_ about it, but with Kira, Mike, Tim, _and_ Helen all cheering him on, he kind of feels like he has to try.

Kira calls this positive reinforcement. Mike calls it peer pressure. 

Either way, Gerry has a terribly awkward conversation about what exactly he’s meant to do—the cover, obviously, but if he has ideas for a few black and white drawings, either full page or partial, they’ll pay for that too—and gets the full manuscript a few days later.

They also give him the author’s social media info. She’s pretty active on Twitter, but Gerry doesn’t think he has enough energy to reach out to another stranger, so he ignores it, but Mike gets the handle from Gerry and starts scrolling through. He says the Twitter page is filled with fake constellations based on Maretta and her relatives. It’s just thread, really. A black piece of fabric poked with holes of bright yellow. But sometimes, there’s something really beautiful about something so simple.

And he loves the book. Of course he does. From the moment he read the first line, he was hooked. Getting a chance to finish the story just makes him love it more. It’s exciting being able to read it to Mike. It feels a little wrong to talk about it with someone else when the book’s even not out yet, but Mike promises to pre-order the book when it’s available—according to Tim, that helps more than just buying it—so it’s probably fine. 

It’s weird how easy it is for the two of them to relate to all of it. It’s not a story about being afraid, but it’s so easy to think of in terms of fear. The sky Maretta sees isn’t kind. She loves the night, but that doesn’t stop the creatures within it from trying to do her harm.

When she first meets Sirius, the star refuses to light her path and threatens to bite her so hard she’ll fall out of the sky, but Augira finds her just in time to offer freedom with a ride and the Virgo braids her hair back and calls her brave, for willing to make the journey. This isn’t the escape Maretta wanted it to be. It’s just a world. And it’s _her_ world, just as much as the town she grew up in is.

Maretta’s mum tells her that they’re descendants of Polaris, the north star. That’s why they can go into the sky in the first place. Not because it’s their birthright, but because it's their _duty._

They were meant to guide. To put enough stars in the sky for ships to find their way. To move the constellations and to make sure Polaris keeps its perch above Maretta’s family shop, so that you’ll always know exactly how to find safety.

But when her mum gets sick, Polaris doesn’t do anything but watch from the sky. Maretta searches for it, not knowing if she’d rather curse it out or beg for its help. But she knows she can’t do _nothing._ So she steals her dad’s star map, packs a bag, and turns the air beside her into a path towards hope. 

Honestly, though, Gerry’s just glad Mike doesn’t say anything about Maretta’s obvious struggles with her family legacy. So _maybe_ Gerry relates to the kid who’s parents want her to spend the rest of her life hunting down magic. So what. It’s not like Mike doesn’t have his own shit he’s projecting, too.

And it’s a lot of fun trying to pin down a design for her. The only description of Maretta in the book is that she’s got a “constellation of freckles” and wild hair. Gerry wants to make her look like an explorer. She hasn’t figured everything out yet, obviously, but the kid’s been training for this kind of thing her entire life. Gerry likes to imagine she’d be at least a little prepared.

Unfortunately, though, the Institute’s still the same problem it always is, and pretty soon, Gerry’s pulled back into the tunnels, once again stuck only a few feet away from Basira and Daisy. At least Manuela promises to kill them if they try anything. Gerry doesn’t doubt she’s serious.

He wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t thought they all needed to be here, but Gerry knows they all need to be on the same page about what comes next. None of them should be hearing about the plan second-handed, especially when the stakes were so high.

Good news is, Tim doesn’t think killing Elias would kill them. Which, yeah, Gerry thought so, too, but Tim can actually back this up with proof now.

“I did some digging,” Tim says. “One of Gertrude’s first assistants, Fiona something—she worked with the Archivist before Gertrude. All of us… we’re tied to the Institute through the _Archives._ If Elias dying was going to kill us, it’d be the same for Jon, yeah? I mean, technically, we’re all _his_ underlings too. If there’s no head, there’s no Archivist. But that means if there’s no Archivist, there shouldn’t be any assistants, either.”

“Are you saying I don’t have to gouge out my eyes if Jon does?” Melanie asks. Jon makes a noise.

“It probably would work like that, too,” Tim agrees. “And if _that’s_ true, what does that say about Mr. ‘I am the beating heart of this Institute’ himself?”

“But _he_ said that it’d kill us,” Martin says.

“He said it _might,”_ Tim corrects. “And maybe, yeah, there’ll be some kind of consequences. But death? Destroying the Circus didn’t even kill everything inside it, and we’re _way_ more human than them. So why the hell would killing Elias hurt _us_ when those freaks could survive without its Ringmaster?”

“So… we don’t have to toss him into the Coffin, then,” Melanie says. “We can just kill him?”

“If he’s right, it’s better if we do,” Basira says. “The Coffin might cut the connection, but he’ll still be _there._ We’ll just be ruining our chances if we put him somewhere we can’t get him out of.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Gerry asks Tim.

“We could still toss his body into the Coffin,” he offers. “If we find it, I mean. Elias is the one with the eyes, so that’s what we have to destroy, right? His original body might not mean anything to him, but maybe it’ll weaken him somehow.”

“If he’s keeping it down here, he probably needs it for something,” Gerry agrees. “It was part of the ritual. Who knows what’ll happen to him if one of its largest components go missing?”

“I hope it kills him,” Jon says. He looks down. “I’m… not looking forward to attempting murder.”

“I told you, Jon, that’s my job,” Melanie replies. She flexes her arm as if to prove a point. 

“And you still think you can do it?” Basira asks. Melanie scowls.

“Just because I’m not _angry_ doesn’t mean I can’t hold a knife,” she says.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” Basira insists. “I’m just making sure we’re all prepared.”

“Then ask me about my aim,” Melanie says, a bit kinder. “Don’t be so vague.”

“Fine,” Basira says shortly. “Sorry.”

Manuela clears her throat.

“I’m not entirely sure I’m necessary for this conversation,” she says.

“You’re of vital importance to the plan,” Jon tells her. “There are still a few places in the Institute without explosives, but none we can get to without detection. And besides, if killing Elias will hurt us, I don't think it would be immediate. If you can blind help us ourselves in that time, we’ll be free.”

“Blinding yourself lets you quit the Institute,” Gerry adds, because he’s just now realizing that they didn’t tell Manuela anything. Guess that was what happened when you didn’t come to the weekly tunnel meet-ups.

“Oh,” Manuela says. She hesitates. “I… don’t know if I have that ability. Not permanently. And not for you, certainly.”

“You think I’m stronger than you?” Jon asks, surprised.

“Hardly,” Manuela snorts. “But it’s not a theory I wish to test, especially with the stakes.”

Jon sighs.

“Probably for the best,” he agrees. “But the others? You could help them?”

“I could create a cloak of darkness around their eyes,” Manuela says. “My sun could blind you all permanently, but that’s not in my power. All I can do is call on the night that surrounds me.”

“We can’t ask Helen to borrow the sun again?” Melanie asks.

“You can try,” Martin says. “She kind of seems like she wants to keep it.”

“I won’t let her,” Manuela insists. “But… I’m not sure how safe these tunnels will be for it, either. I won’t sacrifice my sun for your mission.”

“So just have Helen bring us to it,” Melanie says. “Get her to push us into her hallways or something.”

“That’s definitely an option,” Martin says. He’s not a fan of Helen’s hallways. “Or we could try something else. You know, just in case the embodiment of lying decides not to help us after all.”

“We’ve got to find Jonah Magnus’s body, too,” Gerry says. He turns to Manuela. “No one told you, did they? Elias is secretly Jonah. We think he’s puppeting the body through his eyes.”

“I was not told this,” Manuela says carefully, but it’s clear that what she wants to say is _“what the fuck?”_ Not like she has much room to judge, though, what with Rayner’s whole deal and everything.

“It’s kind of hard to talk about stuff like that outside the tunnels,” Melanie apologizes.

“Speaking of the tunnels, we think there might be something about this place that hides the body,” Jon adds. “We can’t find it, so we can’t be sure we’re on the right track, but we know there’s something stopping us from reaching the center. Since we’re assuming the confusion is part of the Eye, Gerry said it was unlikely you’d be able to reach it, but…”

“He might be right about that,” Manuela admits. “There’s… a presence here. It doesn’t appreciate me walking through its halls. I believe I may know where the feeling emanates from, but I do not believe it would be safe for me to get much closer.”

“Anything you can tell us would be a big help,” Jon says. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I will be able to cloak you,” Manuela says. “But other than that…”

“That’s alright,” Jon tells her. “But I suppose if we can’t get through using your powers, the only thing left—well, I suppose I’ll just have to _know_ how to get there.”

“You think you’re strong enough for that?” Gerry asks.

“I doubt anyone else is,” Jon replies. “Out of everyone here, it really just comes down to the two of us, doesn’t it? And you’re…”

Jon trails off.

“I don’t think it’s smart to challenge Elias in a battle of Knowing,” Gerry says. “Not just because he’s stronger. Gertrude’s already tried something like this once. He’ll expect an Archivist to try and stop him.”

“I’m not an Archivist,” Tim says suddenly.

“No,” Gerry says.

“Wait, what?” Martin asks. “How is that relevant?”

Tim opens his mouth to respond, but hesitates.

“Nevermind,” he says. “It’s—it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Martin raises an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says. “I doubt Elias will let anyone else find the path. And if you do… He wants me alive. I’m not sure I can say the same for you. It’s not worth it. We’ll find another answer. Whatever you’re thinking of shouldn’t be our only answer.”

“Might help if we had that Leitner,” Gerry says thoughtfully. “Or some artefact of the Eye. Find some way to supercharge Jon, get him to lead us to the right place.”

“Do you think Helen could bring us to it?” Jon asks.

“Maybe?” Gerry frowns. “Don’t think she will, though. I’m not so sure we should involve her, honestly. She’s… got her own ideas of how things should go down.”

“Like?” Melanie asks. Gerry hesitates.

“It’s hard to be sure,” he admits. “Just… being helpful means something different to a creature like her.”

“Well, even if we can’t find Elias, we still need to burn the place down,” Basira says. “If we can’t finish him, we could always still quit. The building, though, has to go.”

“We need teams,” Daisy agrees. “One group on Elias, one double-checking the bombs, and another looking out for Lukas, and any other threats. Second two groups come in together, then split apart if it looks like there’s trouble. We blow the place up when we all regroup.”

“We have to make sure the Archives itself burns,” Jon reminds her. “Even with explosives, there could still be some remaining statements. It doesn’t seem wise to leave them intact.”

“It’s not,” Gerry agrees. “But I can help with that. Got a _lot_ of lighter fluid.”

“And I’m fighting Elias,” Melanie says. “Obviously.”

“Manuela should probably be on bomb duty,” Martin says. He turns to Melanie. “If Jon comes with you, which I guess he kind of has to, it’s probably not a good idea to bring her along—sorry Manuela.”

“I know you mean no offense,” Manuela tells him. Martin smiles at her, then frowns.

“I guess I should probably distract Peter,” he says with a sigh. “I know him well enough to guess what to expect. And I could probably get him to just go on a rant about his ritual or something.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daisy says. “You never know who he’s working with. Might need back-up.”

“So, what, you’re going to rip his throat out for me?” Martin asks. Daisy shakes her head.

“I’m not going to kill him,” she says. 

_“You’re not?”_ Basira says.

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Daisy tells her. “Killing just makes me worse. And if I can’t slow down one old man without shooting him in the heart, then there’s no point in me even coming along.”

“But don’t you think…” Basira hesitates, then shakes her head. “No, you’re right. He’s not worth it.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t deserve it,” Daisy says. “I’m sure he’s done plenty of terrible things to justify that. But I don’t think I should be the one who decides that, especially when I’ve never met the man.”

“I have,” Basira mutters. “Believe me, he deserves it.”

Gerry takes a moment to consider whether or not he should speak. He doesn’t want to talk directly to Basira, but, _ugh,_ he’s still the smartest one in the room. If he doesn’t mention it, it might not get brought up.

“You can’t go with her,” Gerry tells Basira.

“Why?” Basira asks. “I’m the only one else who knows how to fight. You need me.”

“You’re also the only one who can pull her back,” Gerry reminds her. “The Lonely has its own domain. She won’t want to leave if she’s with you. Tied together, safer apart.”

There. Warning received. Now he can stop talking to cops.

“You’re going into the tunnels, aren’t you?” Gerry asks Tim.

“I know the area,” Tim says. “Can’t abandon Team Trip Elias Into A Big Spooky Hole.”

“I forgot you were still calling it that,” Jon says. He shakes his head, but his voice is filled with affection.

“Anything to piss you off,” Tim says, equally fond.

“Oh, same here, but I actually mean it,” Melanie says. Tim snorts.

“We, ah, also need a place to meet up afterward,” Jon says. “Somewhere easy to reach from both the tunnels and the Institute. Far enough away that we won’t risk anyone in the blast. Either that, or some kind of signal we can all give when we’re free, but that seems a bit more risky.”

“Got to be close enough for us to pull the trigger, too,” Daisy adds.

“I’ve got a few thoughts,” Tim says. “No harm in hiding in one of the buildings next door. Just have to make sure Melanie or Gerry can pick the lock.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Melanie agrees. “I mean, how old is the shop next door? A hundred years old? Might not even have a silent alarm.”

“Is that it?” Gerry asks.

“We need to figure out what Basira will be doing during all of this,” Jon reminds him. “I don’t think we need any more people in the tunnels, but…”

“She should stay with Manuela and me,” Gerry says. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the smartest move. Tim and Jon should be able to get Melanie out of the tunnels no matter what. Daisy would be able to get out just as long as Basira could, which meant that Martin would get out as well. And if Basira couldn’t get out for some reason, Gerry would be able to help her find her way. It was a good plan, just as long as no one did anything stupid.

Manuela puts a hand on Gerry’s arm.

“I will be there as well,” she reminds him. Basira sighs.

“I’m not some kind of monster,” she says. “We’re on the same side! I’m not going to hurt you when I need you with me!”

“Glad to hear I’m so useful,” Gerry replies. Basira glares at him.

“Not everything I say is an insult!” she insists. “I get it. I’m mean. You don’t like me. But just because I made a bad career choice doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.”

Gerry snorts.

“Fine.” Basira throws her hands up. “Whatever. If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you. But _I’m_ not going to be that petty. I know who my enemy is, and it’s not you.”

“I don’t think you’re my _enemy,”_ Gerry says. “I just don’t like working with someone covered in so many spiderwebs.”

“So show me where they are, then,” Basira challenges. “Tell me, and I’ll brush them off.”

Gerry doesn’t answer. He can’t. No matter how strong he can feel the Web on her, he can’t _see_ anything.

“Right.” Basira sniffs. “Well, I’ll tell you what I don’t like and that’s having to work with some ex-cultist who’s only _just_ realized that kidnapping’s bad, but here I am. I want to get out of here. It doesn’t matter if I _don’t like it._ I don’t have a choice. And that’s _fine._ We all have to make sacrifices sometimes.”

 _“Ex-cultist,”_ Manuela grumbles. Gerry puts his hand on top of her’s and shakes his head.

“Already said I’d work with you, didn’t I?” Gerry replies. “We’ve got it all figured out. Which means I’m going home.”

“Just make sure you’re here when it counts,” Basira tells him.

“Aren’t I always?” Gerry snaps.

“And what about the Web?” Melanie interrupts. “I mean, are we just going to ignore the fact we’re doing exactly what it wants us to do?”

“Not all plans are evil,” Gerry admits. “I don’t trust Annabelle, but I think she wants Elias gone. If that’s all this is, burning the place down might be the best way to go.”

“So spiders are fine, just as long as they’re not me?” Basira asks.

“Spiders are only fine if I know what web they’re building,” Gerry shoots back. “Obviously she’s planning something. But I don’t think it’s something I need to care about, so I won’t. If you’ve got something better, by all means, feel free to speak now. But I think this place has cursed you all long enough and, personally, I can’t wait to see it burn.”

Martin clears his throat.

“I mean, I kind of thought we already knew what Annabelle wanted?” he says. “You said she said she wanted Basira to take something from the Archives for her, right?”

“She’s going to burn down two hundred years of knowledge,” Jon says blandly. “Because Elias won’t give her—what? A statement?”

Martin shoves him lightly.

“There’s all of Artefact Storage to go through,” Martin reminds him. _“Yeah,_ it’s not the easiest way of getting something, but I mean, well, she wants Basira, too, right?”

And Basira couldn’t get out of the Institute unless they burned it down. Hm. Still a lot of work to create one avatar, but, well, Elias had wanted her to be one, too, hadn’t he? He called her _Detective._ And if the Eye needed an avatar to start its ritual… yeah, Gerry’s kind of okay with the Web taking over if it’s about something like that. He’s not sure he wants to find out what the Detective actually does.

“I don’t know how much I like that idea, either,” Jon says.

“That’s not her plan,” Basira insists. “I’m not that important. I can’t be.”

“It’s not the end of the world if you are,” Gerry says. “You can all figure it out together. Just as long as you stick around.”

Basira glares at him.

“I’ll be fine on my own,” she tells him. “Nothing you could do to fix this, anyway.”

“I don’t fix things,” Gerry says. “I just tell people what they need to hear to fix it themselves. Even if they don’t actually want to hear it.”

More glaring. That’s fine. He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“If Annabelle really does want you, though, it wouldn’t hurt to have another anchor,” Gerry asks. He turns to Melanie. “You mention anything about a party yet?”

“Only to Manuela,” Melanie says. She turns to Basira. “Do you and Daisy want to come over to my flat sometime soon? Gerry’s right. It definitely helps to have something to remember, especially if we’re going up against a Lukas. Thought we could have a girl’s night. You know. Just hang out as friends.”

Basira stares at her, looking genuinely surprised at the offer.

“I mean… yeah,” she stammers out. “Sure. We’ve got nothing going on. You want us to bring anything, or…?”

“If you want to bring some food, that’d be great,” Melanie says. “I don’t know. I don't really have anything special planned. Just thought it’d be nice.”

“It does sound nice,” Basira agrees. Her shoulders slump. “Could use a break from all this.”

Huh.

Gerry hadn’t realized how fragile Basira looked when she was talking to someone who wasn’t him. Maybe Melanie was right. Maybe she could help her. It was pretty clear she’d already decided Gerry was her enemy, no matter what she said, but Melanie was actually her friend. Basira cared about _her_ opinion.

There’s a joke Gerry could make here, about his insistence on treating others as human beings making him seem “too preachy” for her, but the vulnerable look in her eyes makes her just seem lonely. It’s hard to be scared of someone who looks so desperate.

“You don’t have any allergies, do you?” Basira asks. “Just in case I do bring something.”

“Not me, no,” Melanie says. “But… Well, we can talk about it after.”

“Sure,” Basira says. “Alright.” 

“That… should be it, I believe,” Jon says. “In regards to our plans, at the very least. Someone should check for the books Leitner was using, just to ensure Peter doesn’t use it against us. Gerry, do you have any tips for dealing with the NotThem?”

“Think it can only get you if you see it,” Gerry says. “It needs a chance to… connect, I guess. Make sure it captures all of you. And it’s a Stranger, so it’s weak against being known. Still, don’t think any of us are strong enough to dispel the confusion that surrounds it. Blowing it up is probably our best bet.”

“So basically, just don’t get caught?” Melanie says with a laugh. 

Gerry shrugs. Pretty much, yeah.

“Peter shouldn’t be as hard to fight, at least,” he offers. “You’re already all marked by the Eye, so I’m hoping that’ll provide at least some protection against the Lonely.”

“And Elias?” Martin asks. Gerry shrugs again. “Cool. Great.”

“I mean, unless he’s planning on taking someone new, we’ve already seen the worst he can do,” Gerry tells him. “But I’ve never had anyone slam a bad memory into my head like that, so I can’t really help you there.”

“It was the worst experience of my life,” Melanie says. Her voice is harsh, but not mean. She’s telling them because they need to know. Not because she wants to talk about it. “Only thing to do is remember is that it doesn’t last, I guess. And he probably can’t do it to two of us at once, so, at least it’ll keep him distracted.”

“You have my full permission to go for his eyes if it looks like he’s trying to melt my brain,” Gerry tells her. Melanie snorts.

“Noble of you,” she says.

“Nah,” Gerry replies. “Just petty.”

Melanie laughs again, then turns to Jon.

“I can try and find something to help us against Elias,” she says. “I mean, between me and Manuela, we’re bound to find _something.”_

“We can check Breekon’s van, too,” Basira offers. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to be careful,” Jon says.

“I’ve already looked through it once, Jon.” Basira rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Melanie says. “That’s enough of that, then. I’ve got loads of things I’d rather talk about, like my party. Basira, you got a favorite game?”

“Sounds like that’s our cue to leave,” Gerry says, standing.

“Yeah,” Melanie says. She shoos him away with her hand. “So buzz off. Plan your own party.”

“Maybe I will!” Gerry doesn’t know why he says it like that. That’s literally what he’s going to do. They never set a date, after all. All he knows right now is that it's going to be at Tim’s flat. “Have fun, though. You deserve it.”

Melanie laughs.

“We all do,” she agrees. “Take care of yourself, yeah? Try not to find any trouble before we start making our own.”

“No promises,” Gerry says, and climbs back up to the Archives through the trapdoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't have to be so long, but I needed to make sure I got in everything before the battle. And I needed Mike and Gerry having a nice Sukkot moment. The next three chapters will probably be shorter.
> 
> up next: a party!


	12. Study Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls night gets a little wild. Meanwhile, Gerry has a nice time playing Mario Kart with friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: the feeling you get after deciding to have a movie marathon before a big test

Basira and Daisy show up at Melanie’s house with a homemade cake.

Manuela’s got kind of a weird relationship with food now that she kind of doesn’t need it, and usually only eats the blandest shit ever—something she jokes makes for just one more reason her parents would be disappointed in her. The cake’s somehow dull enough for her, but still sweet enough that Melanie enjoys it too. She’s about two bites into a piece of the cake when Melanie realizes that this is kind of the first time she’s hung out with Basira outside of work.

Huh.

Obviously, they did a lot together when Melanie was still wild with anger, but she thinks, technically, that building filled with flies they burned down counted as a work trip. 

Basira had seemed so sure of herself, then. Now that Melanie’s back in her right mind, she realizes that their plan had been stupid as hell, but Basira had seemed so prepared at the time. 

Part of that had been why she thought they wouldn’t really come. Throwing a party to help stave off loneliness wasn’t the draw it could have been for a woman who’d walked out of the Unknowing with barely a scratch. 

It’s clear to her now that Basira isn’t just the woman who somehow managed to find her own eldritch yellow brick road out of that horror show. She’s just a person. A person in Melanie’s flat, worried about whether or not her gift will be appreciated.

“This is brilliant,” Melanie declares. “Thank you.”

“Thank Daisy,” Basira says. “She’s the one who found the recipe.”

Daisy shrugs.

“Wasn’t too hard,” she says, somewhat bashful. 

Melanie smiles at her.

It’s weird to think of her as a killer. Weird to think how they both played a part in hurting so many people. Weird to think that there’s still a poorly hidden bullet wound in Mike’s chest, and she’s sitting next to the one who gave it to him.

It was in such a weird spot, too. Like she wasn’t even looking where she was shooting. Like she didn’t even care. Like she couldn’t even be bothered to look at the life she was ending.

Then again, Melanie never saw the full scar. All she had was a glimpse after his—well, Gerry’s, really—shirt slipped. Maybe it’s her who’s blowing things out of proportion.

She hadn’t mentioned it, though. Obviously. But she hadn’t forgotten.

She wasn’t scared of Daisy, or anything like that. No, Melanie was _angry._ Mike wasn’t a monster. They wouldn’t convince her otherwise. But Daisy had still used his inhumanity as an excuse to want him dead.

“You know, I’m just realizing I have _no idea_ what the two of you do in your spare time,” Melanie admits. “I mean, I know you said you were down to play games, but…”

“All I do is listen to _The Archers_ with Daisy,” Basira says. “Or read. Not much time for anything else, really.”

That was sad as hell. 

Even _Manuela_ had hobbies, though she hadn’t had the chance to indulge in most of them. Being so sensitive to the light made most things a bit difficult, especially with how badly her eyes worked lately. If she was in the dark, it was fine, though she could probably use a pair of glasses, but daylight was just impossible for her to see through. Kind of put a limit on what you could do. Melanie thinks she’s started a knitting circle with Gerry and Martin, though. 

“So you really don’t have a favorite game, then?” Melanie asks. She had tried to ask before, but Basira had shrugged her off.

“I like Animal Crossing,” Daisy offers. “It’s nice. Relaxing.”

That… wasn’t the answer Melanie had been expecting. But, of course, even Daisy had to have taken a break sometime.

“Got some good news for you, then,” Melanie tells her. “They’ve got this Amiibo game. It’s basically a board game, but for a console. And there’s four of us, so it’s perfect.”

Melanie hesitates and glances towards Manuela. Yeah, a game like that _would_ be fun, except Manuela couldn’t see screens for shit. Anything that bright usually just looked like a glowing blob, which was why Manuela hadn’t gotten a phone yet. Even though the rest of her wasn’t as sensitive to the light as it used to be, her eyes were still as weak as ever.

“I’d be interested in playing,” Manuela offers. “But I won’t sit near the screen. Someone else will have to guide me along.”

“Not a problem,” Melanie tells her. She stands up. “Let’s go play some Animal Crossing, then.”

It only takes a few rounds for everything to go to shit. The only thing going through Melanie’s mind as she watches Manuela throw her controller at Daisy is _“and we were doing so well, too.”_

Honestly, out of everyone for Manuela to fight, Melanie hadn’t expected it to be Daisy. The two of them had been getting along. Bonding over being the oldest in the group, as well as their mutual efforts to regain humanity, and concern over Callum Brodie. 

Basira, on the other hand, _hated_ Manuela. After her experience with the People’s Church, Melanie can’t really blame her, but that was still something that they could be working through _right now_ instead of Daisy accusing Manuela of corrupting Callum.

“You brought him closer to the Dark!” Daisy shouts. Manuela wails. “No, don’t deny it! You _promised_ you wouldn’t! You told me that you wouldn’t let him end up like you!”

“He needs _safety!”_ Manuela insists. “Gerry gave him every comfort the Eye could give, but I’m the only one who understands how to avoid the monsters hidden in my domain!”

“And if _he_ understands, he’ll be just like you!” Daisy shoots back. She throws up her hands. “He’s already hurting other kids. What’ll you do if you pushed him to get worse? He’s a kid now, sure, but he—”

“He’s _afraid!”_ Manuela shouts. “He will never follow my path because we _cursed him!_ He’s _frightened_ of my world, not allured! But he knows no other solution for the loneliness in his heart. It won’t fade away with something as simple as a visit to a _human therapist._ Whatever they know, it won’t be enough. He’ll find no victory in escaping creatures like us.”

“You marked him,” Daisy accuses. Manuela shakes her head, frustrated.

“He was already marked by my kind,” she says. “I can’t take away that kind of fear. All I can do is ensure he can live with what he knows.”

Melanie’s not sure if she should get involved. Basira definitely seems ready to. She’s already standing near Daisy, but honestly? Of course she was. Melanie’s not sure she wants to find out how two cops were trained how to deal with a screaming woman.

This definitely wasn’t the nice, relaxing party they had been hoping for. Sorry, Gerry. At least anger would probably still stop the Lonely.

“This isn’t how you deal with that,” Daisy insists. “You’re practically _indulging_ him. You’ve got to find a way to cut him off now, before—”

“And _how_ do you propose we do that?” Manuela demands. She steps closer. “Do we lock him up? Condemn him to solitude for the crime of being an undisciplined child?”

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean,” Daisy snarls. Melanie stands.

“Then _enlighten me,”_ Manuela demands. “How do we stop a child from finding monsters under his bed? How do we convince a suffering youth to prioritize being _kind_ to _strangers?_ This is no _feast,_ Alice. He doesn’t have our hunger.”

“So he’s just doing this because he wants to, then.”

Manuela screams.

“Hey,” Melanie says, keeping her voice stern. “Maybe we should take a break? I mean, we’re all friends here, right?”

Basira scoffs.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Manuela demands. “Is there some wrongdoing you would like to inform me of?”

“Just remembering what it was like when I saved that kid from _your_ church,” Basira replies, voice cold.

“If you’re going to tell me you never expected to be friends with a murderer, I’m sorry to tell you, I had nothing to do with that failing of yours,” Manuela tells her. “Your disdain does not surprise me. I know I have no right to ask for anything more. No matter how much I regret sending my fellow apostles to London, I cannot change the past. But at least I can comfort myself in the knowledge that I will never again be _you.”_

“I’m _not_ like you,” Basira hisses. “I _refuse_ to let myself get to that point.”

Manuela laughs.

“Do you know how much it pains me to look at the sky?” she asks. “The sun burns my flesh. Even the false light of a bulb is enough to defeat me. And yet, I persist. Because I wish to regain my personhood. Because I wish there to once again be more to me than blind faith and the willingness to obey.”

The shirt Manuela’s wearing has long, flowing sleeves that go past her hands. When she rolls one of them up, they can all see how tender the skin is, even in the dim light. Melanie winces. She knew it was bad, but that doesn’t mean she likes seeing it.

“Goodness is not something so easily grasped that it can be granted without hardship,” Manuela tells them. “I have suffered for my sins. These burns ache with every ounce of my being. Tell me, deliverers; what discomfort have you felt in making _your_ amends?”

“Just because something doesn’t _hurt_ doesn’t mean we didn’t do it right,” Basira says.

“Perhaps not,” Manuela agrees. “But the g-ds of this world change you, both in body and soul. If you are not fighting against them, you _are_ them. In this sense, your comfort means your compliance.”

“What about any part of my life right now has been _comfortable?”_ Basira laughs.

“The pain of absolution is not the same as the fear-coated daggers you walk on,” Manuela says. “You misunderstand me. I understand the desire, of course, but looking away does not protect you from the full weight of your actions.”

She rolls down her sleeve.

“You do not know the way I suffer,” Manuela tells Basira. “I wish I could call that a kindness, instead of a refusal to look towards the future.”

“Pain is pain,” Basira argues. “Can you blame me for not wanting to think about it for _one_ second? Whatever Annabelle wants, it won’t go away if we stop Elias. Jon might get to stop being the Archivist, but I’m not going to be that lucky. And everyone keeps telling me that if I talk to the only person who _might_ understand how that feels, suddenly I’m a bad person.”

“Daisy’s not the only person who gets it,” Melanie reminds her. “We’ve all had our own experiences with that stuff. Gerry, too.”

“And he’s going to talk to me about that?” Basira snorts. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t _hate_ you,” Melanie insists. The look Basia shoots her says she doesn’t believe a word of it. Of course she doesn’t.

Melanie’s starting to realize that part of Basira’s problem is that she’s already convinced herself that it’s her and Daisy against the word and, more unfortunately, the two of them against the rest of the Archives staff. And Melanie gets it, she does. Basira’s conversations lately were a _mess._ But the way Gerry talked to her wasn’t a product of anger. The coldness in his eyes when he looked at her was fear, plain and simple. Everything Melanie had read about entities and fear was that showing your own came with its own danger. Of course he had found ways to cover it up. The humor had been more obvious, but Melanie knew enough about Gerry Delano to know he couldn’t stop himself from getting involved in anything he saw as a _danger._ Or, you know, anyone.

“Whatever he feels about me, it’s not good,” Basira says. “Same with Tim, honestly. That’s _fine._ Like I said, I have someone who understands.”

“I don’t want you to isolate yourself for me,” Daisy says. She looks hurt. “I… is this why you haven’t been going to the Archives? Basira, I don’t care what they say about me. They’re _right._ I know they are.”

“They don’t _understand,”_ Basira insists. “They talk about you like you’re this—like you’re some monster! They keep telling you what you need to do to get better, but there’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, you haven’t hurt anyone in _months,_ and you’re still—”

“I’m starving,” Daisy interrupts her gently. “I had you save Crew because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from finishing the job. Not because I was worried he’d be scared of me. I was worried if I saw his fear, it’d remind me of how hungry I was.” 

Basira stares at her.

There’s nothing any of them can say to that, is there?

Daisy had been avoiding the Archives. Daisy had also been avoiding finding a new victim. It’s not hard to read between the lines.

“You don’t know me,” Daisy sighs. “You’re my best friend in the world, but Delano understands my nature better than you. I just never wanted to scare you. From the moment we first met, I knew you didn’t deserve to get tied up in all of this. So I did my best to be sneaky. To only let myself be human around you and it… It was nice, you know? To have someone look at me like I was just a woman and not a monster. But they looked at me like that because it was the truth. I’m a Seeker, Basira. All my life, I’ve been finding victims. Picking off people I thought were too weak. Too _wrong._ If anyone looked too close, I would tell them I only did what I had to. And you believed me, when I told that to you.”

“Because I’ve seen what’s out there!” Basira practically shouts her reply. “You’re really telling me that _none_ of them deserved it? The people who killed Leo, Breekon, Hope—didn’t they deserve to suffer?”

“No,” Melanie says. She’s just as surprised as they are that she’s speaking up now. But they’re _so close_ to understanding. If she doesn’t give it to them, who will? “They deserved to be somewhere they couldn’t hurt anyone else. That’s not the same thing. I mean, Daisy’s getting better, yeah? But if you never got her out of that coffin, she wouldn’t have this chance to.”

“That’s all I want for Callum,” Manuela adds, a bit desperately. “For him to be in a place where he no longer wishes to do harm. He is a child. He doesn’t yet understand how deeply the cut of his actions will scar.”

“And you?” Basira asks, but she’s not angry this time.

“I knew,” Manuela admits. She looks away. “But I could not bring myself to feel anything other than the exhilaration of being loved.”

Basira doesn’t look at Daisy, but her face says everything Melanie needs to know. Melanie puts her hand on Basira’s back.

“I just want to say that you’ll have me,” she says. “All of you do. You were my friend when I was evil, and I want to say I’m not going to leave you now, after everything, but… I can’t be like that. Not again.”

She’s talked this over with Georgie. And her therapist, kind of. It’s hard to be around people trying to dig themselves deeper. Georgie had been afraid of getting too close to Jon because of that. She wanted to help him, of course she did. She loved him. But she couldn’t let him drag her down with him. She couldn’t indulge in the kind of numbness thinking about the Institute made her feel.

Melanie understood that. It had been so hard for her to feel like a person, after the bullet. She wasn’t going to lose that now. If that meant she couldn’t help Basira… well, it was a failure she’d have to live with.

“I know there’s only so much I can do to help,” Melanie continues. “Especially without getting involved, but I don’t… it’s not _fair_ that I get to be free while you don’t.”

“Sure it is,” Basira says. “You made better choices.”

“But I didn’t!” Melanie exclaims. “I wanted to be angry. I wanted to _hurt_ people.”

“And yet you refrained,” Manuela says. She takes Melanie’s hand. Melanie squeezes it gently. She had already told her about what happened. Melanie couldn’t hide such a big part of her life, but she also hadn’t been at the point where she could talk about it without crying. Manuela hadn’t judged, though. And she wasn’t going to now. It was things like that that made her such a good roommate.

“I’m not better than any of you,” Melanie says. “I could have done it. When I fought Breekon, I wanted to taste his blood, I just… seeing Gerry kind of shocked me out of it. And I know that I still stopped on my own, and I never really hurt anyone, in the way you all have, but there was this moment, you know? Where he was staring at me, and I could just tell he was afraid. He looked at me like he knew every violent thought that was running through my head and I… I was _glad._ Because no one had ever been so scared of me before, and it felt _right.”_

“But he convinced you to take the bullet out,” Basira says. “What changed?”

“He asked me if I was okay.” Melanie’s not ashamed at the way her voice cracks when she says it. That one act of kindness still means more to her than anything. “That’s why I can’t give up on you guys, no matter what the others think. Because I know no one asked you anything like that when you were me.”

Would Daisy have gotten better, if someone had stopped her from making her first kill? Gerry certainly didn’t think so. That was why he couldn’t be the one to help Basira and Daisy. And he _shouldn’t_ be. But Melanie—she knows Gerry’s right. Daisy and Manuela were both killers. And Basira had covered up plenty of those kills. There was no apology powerful enough to fix what any of them had done. But they were still _people._ What good would pushing them away do now? They’d already suffered for their mistakes. Maybe it wasn’t enough, but how did you even go about judging something like that? They were still trying, weren’t they? Didn’t that count for _something?_

“I know you all want to get better,” Melanie says. “And I want you to, too. So can’t we just… figure something out?”

Daisy picks up the console Manuela threw and hands it back to her.

“Sorry I yelled,” Daisy tells her. Manuela nods.

“I… may have overreacted as well,” she admits. Daisy snorts at that.

“I just couldn’t understand it, I guess,” Daisy says. “There’s nothing good about the Hunt. It just made me want to hurt people, and to lie about what I’d done so I could do it again.”

“You met me because of the Hunt,” Basira says. “You wouldn’t have gotten Sectioned without it.”

Daisy gives a weak smile.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Probably not, no.”

“I was drawn to the darkness before I had ever met my church,” Manuela says. “They had their own part to play in making me the woman I am now, but they would not have approached me if I was not a kindred spirit. Though I did not know it at the time, I had been worshipping the Dark for years before I became one of them. It felt… safe.”

“I don’t think I ever felt safe,” Daisy tells her. It sounds like a realization. “Not since the Hunt, I mean. The only way I could look at anyone was like they were potential threats. I didn’t think about how much stronger I was, or anything like that, unless I needed to throw my weight around. Everything was just me against the rest of the fucked up world. I was always just _waiting_ for someone to mess up. To give me some excuse to give them what I thought they—what I thought _everyone_ deserved. But it wasn’t—maybe it started out as fear, but I stopped having something to be afraid of a long time ago. Only thing that motivated me was… It was joy. There were people who disgusted me, and I was happy when they were gone.”

“I know,” Basira admits. She walks over to touch Daisy’s cheek. “I still have your eyes, remember? I know how you see things now, even if I didn’t want to admit it.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s the same for me,” Basira says. “It would have been nice to have an excuse for all my bad decisions, but the thing is, everything I do always feels so right in the moment.I didn’t save you because I was scared. I saved you because you were _you._ And I’m not—I don’t _want_ to be scared. But Gerard keeps telling me how far I’m falling and that’s not what I want. I mean, I don’t think anyone wants something like that. But it’s still happening.”

“Then _listen_ to him,” Daisy insists. “I don’t want you to be like me. You… saving me had consequences, but those consequences don't have to be your _life.”_

“Does it matter?” Basira demands, standing back up. “If I get better, all that means is I can’t be with you, and I—”

“I don’t want to be with someone who makes me worse!” Daisy blurts out. Basira flinches, and hurt in her eyes makes Daisy wince. “You’re my best friend. And I love you. But if you stay with me because I’m terrible… and I make you a monster—who’s going to stop us? Who’s going to let us know when we go too far?”

Daisy sighs and steps closer to Basira.

“I thought that if we at least had the Archives, there’d be someone holding us accountable,” she admits. “But none of them have any reason to stick around, especially if it’s just to be our voice of reason.”

“You thought you could leave,” Basira accuses. “That as long as they were _my_ friends, I’d have someone to figure this out with while you—you ran off _starved_ yourself!”

Daisy looks away.

“You would have found me someone to eat,” she says. Basira’s shoulders slump.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I would have. If that’s what it took to keep you alive.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Daisy gives an almost desperate laugh. “I mean, christ, Basira, that’s the problem! You can’t just _decide_ who matters!”

It’s Basira’s turn to look away this time. She sighs.

“I know,” she says. “Guess it’s kind of funny how these things come around. Back when I first started, I looked around myself and saw so many dirty cops doing whatever they pleased. Hurting people who hadn’t done anything wrong. Only thing that scared me was how easy it was not to say anything. I always thought to myself, ‘I could never do something like that. I would never treat an innocent person like that.’ But then I got Sectioned and… no one looks innocent when you’ve just seen someone burn through handcuffs.”

“Except me,” Daisy says.

“Except you,” Basira agrees. “I don’t know if I’d say I saw you as _innocent,_ though. I just… knew I wanted you to stick around. So I convinced myself that everything you did was important. Because if it wasn’t… If all we were doing was hurting other people, then there was no difference between us and the cops I hated.”

Basira turns to Manuela.

“You’re right,” she admits. “I haven’t sacrificed what you have. And I don’t want to, either. But that doesn’t mean nothing’s changed. Of _course_ something has me. All I’ve ever wanted was an edge. To finally get back some control and make myself stronger than the freaks I met. A part of me thought it’d be easier to care about how badly we hurt them once I knew I could overpower them. Long as they weren’t a threat, I could think clearly, but it doesn’t really work like that. That kind of strength wouldn’t make me better. But I still made my choice. And I didn’t just choose Daisy. I think…”

Basira trails off and sits down on Melanie’s couch.

“I think I know what Annabelle Cane wants from me,” Basira admits. “And it scares me how easy it’d be to let her have it.”

Jon and Martin last ten full minutes before Martin finally asks about the extent of Tim’s hearing loss. Gerry’s almost proud of them for resisting so long. At least they knew how to _pretend_ they have manners.

They’re making challah, because they already said they would, and Tim finds comfort in the repetitive nature of braiding bread. Three loaves. One for themselves, one for Melanie and Manuela, and one for Mike, who had technically been invited, but hadn’t wanted to deal with whatever drama was undoubtedly going to unfold by the end of the night. Probably for the best, honestly.

Tim laughs off the question and braids another loop.

“How long have you been waiting to ask that?” he asks.

“A while,” Martin admits. “I mean, it’s not something you really expect to _miss,_ you know?”

Tim snorts.

“Believe me, I do,” he says. “I don’t know if you know this, but when you’re concussed as hell, and you can’t pick up a word anyone’s saying, hearing loss isn’t exactly your first thought.”

Martin and Jon both wince at that. Gerry idly picks at one of the strands of dough.

“A part of me can’t believe I waited this long to get it checked out,” Tim admits. “Part of me is surprised that I’m already doing something about it.”

“I can understand that,” Jon agrees. “I’ve had my fair share of uncomfortable doctor’s visits before all of this. I… after the Circus took me, Martin brought me to A&E. It… well, it wasn’t fun.”

Tim glances down to Jon’s burnt hand and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Couldn’t have been easy to explain all that. And the Unknowing—no one knows why we did that. There’s not really an easy way for me to justify being in an explosion like that, especially to a _doctor.”_

More nodding from Jon. Unfortunately, Gerry thinks they all know what Tim means.

“I’m sorry we didn’t notice,” Martin tells him. “I know I wasn’t always in the Archives, but—I don’t know. I should have noticed _something.”_

Tim shrugs, somewhat uncomfortably.

“No reason to feel guilty,” he says.

“Yes, there is!” Martin insists. “Tim, you were the first person to make me feel like I really even _belonged_ here! I mean, yeah, maybe that seems like a pretty low bar now, but Jon was—well, you know how Jon _was—_ and I had no idea why Elias transferred me, but… I don’t know. You helped me find that dog and bring him to a shelter. It made me feel like everything was going to be okay. And then when you needed me to do the same…”

Martin trails off. Tim looks at the table in front of them.

“Yeah,” Tim says. “It was—it wasn’t great.”

“There’s just so many things we need to keep track of, you know?” Martin continues. “And I don’t—I mean, I _thought_ I was making you and Jon my top priorities, but then suddenly Peter comes in and starts giving me a hundred different things to do, and my mum’s care home calls, and—”

Martin cuts himself off. Tim turns to him in surprise.

“What?” Tim asks. Martin shakes his head. “Martin, what’s going on with your mum?”

“She’s dying,” Martin says. He laughs. “Not like that’s anything new, though. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. But she’s—she’s gotten a lot worse.”

“And you were saying _you_ were distracted,” Tim gives a sharp laugh in surprise. “I had—Christ, I had no idea. Are you alright?”

Martin gives an awkward shrug.

“I mean, like I said,” he says. “I knew it was coming. But getting a call from someone and having them say you should probably come say your goodbyes to a person who doesn’t even want to look at you? It’s… it’s a lot to process, I guess.”

Tim glances at Gerry, but Gerry doesn’t have an answer for that either.

What could he say? That Martin didn’t have to go? He knew that. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to see her or not. It was that he _couldn’t._

“Elias made me see what she thought of me,” Martin adds softly. “That she always… She's always hated me. I thought I already kind of knew that, but it’s—it’s different now. I can’t just pretend I didn’t feel that. I’ve been _trying,_ though, I really have. I always do. I mean, she’s my _mum.”_

Jon puts a hand on Martin’s shoulder. When he takes his hand away, he leaves a white flour handprint in its place.

“Sorry,” Martin says quietly. “Didn’t mean to change the topic.”

Tim stares at him.

“I think these may have been the busiest two months of our lives,” he says. “Can’t blame you for being distracted when you were dealing with all of _that._ Just wish I knew. It might’ve helped. I mean, misery loves company, you know?”

Martin rubs his eyes.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal about it,” he admits. “I mean, we had enough to deal with without me complaining about something we couldn’t fix. It’s not that I didn’t think you wouldn’t understand, it’s just… it wasn’t worth getting distracted.”

“Your emotions aren’t a distraction,” Jon says gently.

Martin shrugs.

“But they’ll still be there after everything, won’t they?” he says. “I just—I didn’t think I needed a break or anything. I just wanted to feel useful. But none of the statements I read about the Extinction even meant anything. I know I helped get Manuela, but aside from that, most of what I’ve been doing is just sitting in the Institute and waiting for someone to tell me what to do.”

“You’ve already done so much,” Jon argues. “You went all the way to _Norway_ for us! And you distracted Peter long enough for Melanie to go through his office. We found a _Leitner_ thanks to you!”

“But not the one that controls the tunnels,” Martin says. “That’s still in the Institute somewhere.”

“But it’s still another tool we didn’t have before,” Jon argues. “Manuela isn’t our only option now. There are other ways for us to hide. It’s more dangerous, yes, but it’s still something that could save our lives.”

“Anyone could have done that,” Martin scoffs.

“But anyone didn’t,” Gerry says. _“You_ did.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” Martin tells him. “We all have a part to play. Mine’s just… not that big. I get it. It’s fine.”

Jon frowns.

“But you’re doing alright, yeah?” Martin asks Tim suddenly. “Adjusting to your hearing aids and everything?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim says. “It was super weird to suddenly just be able to _hear_ again. Kind of a sensory overload, honestly. But Gerry really helped me break them in.”

Tim wiggles his eyebrows. Gerry rolls his eyes.

“You mean by spending two hours explaining Swamp Thing to you?” he asks. 

“What else?” Tim replies with a laugh. He doesn’t mention that the first time he had kissed Gerry while wearing his hearing aids, Tim had to take a moment to marvel at how loud Gerry’s response was. It’s not Gerry’s fault. Tim had kissed his neck. It _surprised_ him, okay? Also, he has sensitive skin. They've been over this.

“It’s been a little weird readjusting, though,” Tim adds. “It’s kind of like… the _volume_ is back where it used to be, but I still can’t catch everything. It’s like getting new reading glasses and then realizing the book you were trying to read was just printed backward or something.”

“Do you need us to talk a bit more slowly?” Jon asks. Tim hesitates.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “I’m still getting the hang of everything.”

Tim looks back at the dough.

“We should probably let this rise,” he says. “You guys want to play Mario Kart while we wait?”

Tim is a pro at Mario Kart. Gerry hasn’t played any multiplayer games since he left Kira’s flat, so he’s a bit rusty. And, honestly, he’d never been the biggest gamer in the first place. Only so many buttons you can mash before your fingers start hurting, even with his splints. Surprisingly, Basil never seemed to have an issue with that. Strange, since he was sure hir hands were worse than his. Maybe xe just didn’t care.

Either way, Tim’s the best of them by a large margin. Jon’s the type of person who forgets that he owns games too often to feel the need to go out and buy a new one, which means he hasn’t played this in _forever,_ and Martin never really felt like he had the time to get invested in any game. Or the money, honestly.

They don’t really seem to mind, though. Tim makes a joke about them only letting him win because they feel bad, which they shouldn’t, because this isn’t a game you need your ears for, and Jon reminds him that he has never, in his life, been kind enough to pull something like that.

“Maybe you grew as a person?” Tim suggests.

“Hardly,” Jon says. Gerry snorts.

“Let’s play another round,” he suggests. “Rainbow Road or something. You’ve got to suffer with us.”

“Rainbow Road isn’t _that_ hard,” Tim says. 

Martin and Gerry boo him. Tim laughs.

“It’s just a matter of getting the hang of it!” he says. “Look. I’ll show you.”

“You could just say you want to show off,” Gerry tells him. “I’d support you.”

Tim laughs again and gives him a peck on the cheek.

“Oh,” Martin says. “Before I forget—Gerry, did you talk to Caroline Brodie recently? She came by the Institute asking about you.” 

“Caroline?” Gerry asks. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah. Stopped by not too long ago.”

“She seemed a lot better than the last time I spoke to her,” Martin says. “Now that I think about it, I’m not exactly sure _why_ she came? Something about getting a second opinion. Ended up telling her you were kind of working for us as a freelancer. Which I guess _technically_ isn’t too far off.”

“It’s more like charity,” Gerry jokes. “Since you’re not actually paying me. Well, aside from that one time.”

Martin frowns.

“We _should_ be paying you,” he says. “Honestly, I probably could have gotten Peter to approve it as an expense. Probably too late now, though.”

“Should have complained sooner,” Gerry agrees. He doesn’t know how much he cares about the paycheque, but the thought of taking Elias’s money does sound kind of fun, especially when it’s coming without any strings attached. “It’s fine. Not like I was coming by that often. And you did pay for my ticket. Not like I didn’t get anything from this.”

“I’ll see if I can figure something out, though,” Martin says. “I mean, might as well try.”

“What did Caroline say?” Jon prompts.

“Oh!” Martin says. “Well, she gave me kind of a weird look when I called Gerry a freelancer, but then she asked me how he got involved in, um… freelance… archiving… and I told her he kind of… grew up with it? I mean, I wasn’t sure how else to describe it.”

“You did the best you could,” Gerry says sympathetically. He gets it, he really does.

“I mean, how do you explain it?” Martin asks. “Your whole life is kind of…”

Martin gestures with his hands.

“Yeah,” Gerry snorts. “I’m aware. Which is why I generally don’t say anything. No real point in trying to make someone understand. The less they get it, the better off they are.”

Tim bumps their shoulders together. Gerry turns to look at the screen. He really should be paying more attention to his character. Sorry, Peach. Gerry didn’t mean to get you killed.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding about being good,” Gerry says. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Tim tells him, somewhat smug.

“Do you… talk to anyone about it?” Martin asks gently. “I mean, not like I have any room to judge, but…”

“It’s… there’s no point in trying to make someone understand,” Gerry says again. “The only person I’ve ever met who’s just as wrapped up in this as I am is Mike.”

“How is he, anyway?” Tim asks.

“Better than he was at first,” Gerry says, glad for the chance to switch topics. “Pissed as hell about how long it’s taking him to heal, but he's dealing with it, definitely. Think he’s at Indira’s now. She’s trying to convince him to get a better chair.”

Mike hadn’t talked a lot about what he was going through. Gerry gets it. Neither of them were really all that talkative, especially about the things causing them pain. But not all pain had to be verbalized for it to be understood. The Vast hadn’t been able to fix his pain. Gerry knows what kind of betrayal that is.

“Good,” Tim says. “I mean, I get that it’s a lot to deal with, especially when you’ve got six months to catch up on, but…”

“He needs it,” Gerry agrees. “He’s just not the type that likes the thought of needing anything.”

“It can be incredibly frustrating,” Jon agrees. 

“He’s also been bullying you into finishing that cover,” Tim adds. Gerry groans.

“Cover?” Martin asks.

“Got hired to do the art for this kids book,” Gerry explains. “It’s about meeting stars. There’s this scene where Sirius leads the main character out of some really bad shit. They weren’t friends before that, and maybe they aren’t now, but the star puts all that aside because it knows it has a duty to kids like Maretta. Keep trying to draw it out, but it never feels right.” 

Tim pauses the game as Gerry begins to gesture with his hands.

“It’s like… She’s standing up to him, or something,” he says. “She came into the sky to avoid her problems, but he was a _big_ problem and here she was, facing him head-on. So it’s character growth, or something. Hard to draw something where a kid’s scared out of their mind, especially when it should look like a good thing.”

“You’ll get it,” Tim says. He sounds confident. It’s sweet.

“We should probably check on the bread,” Gerry says. “You don’t need me over-explaining a kids’ book to you.”

“But you do it so well!” Tim laughs. He stands up. “You’re right, though. Probably time to actually start baking them.”

“Something wrong?” Jon asks. Tim has a strange look on his face.

“Just…” Tim shrugs. “Never expected we’d be hanging out like this, I guess. Honestly, out of everything, the fact that we’re all here right now is kind of the most surprising.”

Jon winces, then nods slowly.

“Be nice to do this again,” Tim continues carefully. Something about the way he speaks sounds fragile. “You know. After.”

“Of course!” Jon exclaims. “I hate that it took us so long to do something like this. I don’t want us to only get together out of fear of _Peter Lukas.”_

Tim smiles when Jon wrinkles his nose at his own mention of the man.

“Good,” Tim says. “Because you can come over any time, you know? You just have to ask.”

Indira’s service dog is letting Mike run his hands through his fur. His name is Murphy, given to him by his breeder, but Indira says it’s too white a name for any member of her family, so sometimes, he answers to Adrsta, too.

“You know,” Indira says. “Bad luck. Like, Murphy’s Law.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. 

She’s trying to help him, which is nice, he supposes, but she keeps on acting as if all this is a choice. It’s not, not really. There’s only so long he can go without acknowledging that his body is now just as broken as his mind. There’s nothing that can be done to save what he lost. Never has been.

When the thing that took him opened the door, he thought he could smell the dirt on her. Gerry says she’d been condemned to the coffin, but managed an escape, and Mike can’t help but think of the price of it all. Sometimes he wonders if he was just a sacrifice. The ground will always be hungry, after all. If it couldn’t have her, it could still have him.

It’s… not something he likes thinking about. What he wants is to feel weightless. For his mind to leave the room, even if he can’t.

Not much chance of that now. He can still feel an ache in his chest, even though he knows it’s gone. He’s seen the exit wound, but a part of him still feels the lead in his chest.

“You know,” Indira tells him. “We don’t have to be friends just because your roommate knows Melanie.” 

Mike hesitates. A part of him feels proud of the distance between them. Wants to look up to the sky and say, _“You see? I never left, so please—”_

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Not that that was a surprise. He’s always had a hard time finishing his thoughts.

“I’m used to being alone,” Mike says. “I’m… conversations like this are…”

Too many people are trying to help him these days. He’s not used to it. He thinks Gerry might’ve been the first person in years to be actually happy to see him. Simon enjoyed his presence. Most of the Fairchilds did. But not enough to worry about his health. Not enough to realize where he had gone. And Jude… Jude didn’t really _enjoy_ much of anything, honestly. 

“I can promise, I’m not as bored as I look,” he adds. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Indira tells him. “It’s fine. People tell me I look bored, too. I just wanted to make sure you knew you had options, you know?”

Ah. Right. His chair.

“Yes,” Mike says, pretending to be someone who could remember a conversation that happened only moments ago.

“Okay,” Indira says, in a tone that suggests that maybe she knows he’s full of shit. “I think I have a Youtube video on wheelchairs I made with some friends. Honestly, I should have just told Melanie to show you that. It’s definitely way more helpful than me trying to remember everything we talked about there. Especially since I don’t really use the kind of chair you’d be getting.”

“Sorry,” Mike says. 

It’s easier to talk about this when it’s with Gerry. Indira had done nothing but let him borrow a chair he had never wanted. He saw no reason to go ask for her help, though of course, he’d still made the journey to her flat. Gerry, though, had helped him into the tub and washed the dirt off his hair. He had wiped the grime out of his eyes with a smile and said, “I knew you were there, somewhere underneath all that.”

How is he supposed to explain he feels no gratitude for this? That what she’s lent him isn’t _his,_ just a new addition he’s being forced to carry around. How can he trust it to move his body when it doesn’t even belong to him?

Indira shrugs.

“We can just hang out,” she tells him. “Melanie didn’t really tell me a lot about how the two of you met, but I know what her hobbies are. And where she works.”

“I might be somewhat interested in that,” Mike says. Not entirely untrue. Probably a bit of an understatement, though.

“Know anything about djinn?” Indira asks.

Mike blinks.

“Shedim,” he says. Indira smiles, victorious.

“Ah,” she says, as if this explains everything. “You’re one of Melanie’s _cool_ friends.”

Mike can't help himself. He laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately, i don't have any djinn stories to share, but if you're interested, you should check out the podcast "The Hidden Djinn." I think it's very cool.  
> I hope this doesn't come off as Melanie trying to justify anyone's actions here. Her opinion is that after getting so close to becoming a slaughter avatar, she doesn't have a right to judge anyone on violent actions they made while under the control of any entity. Daisy has killed people. That's not up for debate. But Daisy also wants to get better and Melanie knows the only reason SHE got better was because she had the support of her friends. It's not so much whether Daisy deserves a chance at redemption as it is about her own ability to create positive change.  
> Also, unless you count the Mario kart app, I haven't played either of the games mentioned in years, so sorry if it sounds like I don't know what I'm talking about. I can assure you, I really don't.
> 
> up next: the explosion you've all been waiting for


	13. Who Watches The Watcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tape recorder clicks on. The fight begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: A familiar voice, speaking in an unfamiliar manner
> 
> (brief content warnings in the end notes)

There’s a tape recorder in his pocket that he didn’t put there. He doesn’t take it out. Not like there’s much use. Even if he’s not being recorded, Gerry’s sure he’ll still feel seen.

“Is everyone ready?” Manuela asks, holding out her hand. Gerry offers a hum of affirmation and takes it.

It’s not completely dark yet, but it’s getting close. They don’t turn on the lights, though some of them are still glowing. Janitor must have forgotten to turn them off or something. It makes the dark in between them look all the more consuming.

He doesn’t like it, but it’s the only way Manuela can come along. There’s not enough people on their side that they can afford to lose one by scheduling this at the wrong time, or turning on too many lights. He might not like the way the dark obscures his vision, but it’s easy enough to work around. And his night vision’s been getting better lately, anyway. The dark bothers Martin way more than it bugs him.

The Institute is empty. Good. Whatever memo Martin had sent must have worked. 

“No sign of Peter yet,” Basira whispers. “Think he even knows we’re here?”

“He can’t see us,” Manuela reminds her. “Not yet.”

“He’s here,” Daisy growls. “I can smell the fog.”

Gerry tugs an ear. Cherry earrings today. A gift from Basil. He wasn’t sure the fog could take him, but there was no reason to risk the chance. The more anchors, the better off he was. It was simple maths.

There’s about five places in the Institute that need more explosives. Daisy has enough for three. Martin’s got the other two. If Peter doesn’t come, then there’s no use in her just prowling around the place waiting for him. Might as well put her to use.

“That’s one down,” Gerry says as he adjusts the explosive. “Time to split up.”

“Do we have to?” Martin asks.

“If you didn’t want to stay with Daisy, you should have mentioned it before,” Basira hisses.

“That’s not it!” Martin insists. “I just don’t like the idea of us all going off on our own.”

“None of us are going off _alone,_ technically,” Daisy says. Martin’s face cycles through a few different emotions before he sighs and shakes his head.

“Alright, fine,” Martin says. “Have fun burning the Archives.”

“There will be nothing in my life that will bring me more joy,” Manuela tells him sincerely. Gerry rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he says. “We have work to do.”

His job is easy enough—no Archives, no Archivist _._ But if he can’t do that and Daisy still blows up the building, the Archives will be still probably ruined enough that, at the very least, it’ll take Elias time to rebuild it, and the rest of his Institute. Assuming, of course, that the tunnels survive enough of the process to still power him. But if Tim’s team succeeds, they won’t have to worry about any of that. Just the giant power vacuum Elias’ death would bring. A power vacuum that won’t exist if they blow up the tunnels.

He really hopes they blow up the tunnels.

Next to him, Manuela jumps suddenly. There’s a sound coming from the wall closest to them.

Oh, shit. Was something in the pipes?

Manuela shouts. Basira curses and takes out her gun. The thing approaching them looks like it might’ve been human, once, but that it had been a long time since then. Basira shoots it, but another malformed body squeezes into the Archives as soon as it falls.

“How many do you think are out here?” Basira asks as Manuela tries to shove a bookshelf in front of the entrance.

“Too many,” Gerry growls. “Probably some upstairs, too.”

Basira curses again.

“You have a knife, yeah?” Basira asks. “Go back up. I’ll burn the Archives, just—the two of them can’t handle something like this alone.”

“Neither can you,” Gerry argues. 

“I’ll stay,” Manuela says. Gerry looks at her. “She’ll need the cover. But this building is unlocked. They have no need to slither through our cracks when they can simply bring their most terrifying creatures through the front door.”

“If they can’t see us, they’ll probably just head upstairs,” Basira adds. “No more killing.”

Gerry opens his mouth to respond to that, but doesn’t. She’s right. Hopefully, with Manuela’s cloaking, all they’ll see is the fire Basira’s about to start. No one’s getting into the tunnels if the trapdoor’s on fire. But Daisy and Martin still need back-up.

Gerry hands Basira the rest of his lighter fluid. There’s no time for an argument. They have no idea how many people the Flesh have, and how much of a danger they are for Daisy and Martin, but Basira can’t be the one to check, not if there’s a chance Peter’s up there as well. Daisy can come back to her, but that won’t work if they’re both stuck in the Lonely.

“Don’t suppose either of you know how to use a gun?” Basira asks. She catches Gerry’s expression and sighs. “Alright. Nevermind then. Stay safe.”

“I’ll keep her safe, too,” Gerry promises. Basira gives him a short nod.

And then he’s off.

The tunnels go deeper than Melanie remembers. Is it silly if she says she hadn’t expected everything to feel so spooky?

It’s true, though. She had never explored this place. Not like Tim and Jon. This had never been a mystery for her to solve. It’s not strange, or exciting, it’s an old prison. She’s walking through the same halls that had terrified enough men to feed a ritual. The only thing she feels when she walks through is apprehension. Who knew what might attack them down here?

She doesn’t notice the fog until the tape recorder in Jon’s pocket shrieks.

“You know,” Peter says pleasantly. “I really have to say, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Peter,” Jon says coldly.

“Archivist,” Peter greets. “Do enlighten me, will you, how the coffin plays into all this?”

“I suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” Jon tells him. Peter laughs and holds up a book.

“Remember this?” he asks.

“The Seven Lamps…” Jon says. He frowns. “The blood, is that—”

“That would be Leitner!” Peter agrees. “I’ve been told he left a rather nasty surprise down here. I’d recommend leaving before she finds you. She doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood.”

None of them move. Peter sighs.

“Pity,” he says. “I suppose I should have expected this. The last one was rather difficult, too.”

 _“Where is Jonah Magnus?”_ Jon demands.

“In the tunnels,” Peter replies smugly. Melanie hears a shout echoing through the halls. “Oh! And that would be my cue to leave.”

“Go,” Melanie says. Tim stares at her.

“But you’re the one who wanted—”

“You have a way to get to Elias, don’t you?” Melanie interrupts. “I don’t. I can’t help Jon get to the center, but I saw through her disguise once. Maybe it’ll protect me. I know you want this, Tim, I _really_ do, but—”

“Revenge isn’t worth it,” Tim finishes. He sighs and glares at her. “You’re right. I hate it, but you're right.”

“I have the Leitner,” Melanie reminds him. “She won’t be able to find me, not if I don’t want her to. Manuela even loaned me one of her necklaces.”

Melanie pulls the necklace off her neck to show Tim the closed eye pendant.

“Actually, you know what? You take it,” she says. He hesitates. “I have _A Disappearance._ I know you both took a page, but…”

“Never know when you might need to close your eyes,” Tim agrees. He doesn’t put it on. Instead, he shoves it into a pocket. “Stay safe, okay?”

“I’ll make it hurt,” Melanie promises him. They hear NotSasha’s voice again. “Now _go.”_

Jon and Tim both look at her one last time. The worry on their faces is clear, but Melanie does her best to ignore it as she unsheaths the knife by her side. She never did get a new pocket knife after she lost it to Breekon, but Gerry had plenty to spare. And this one has a bit of power to it, too. She’ll be fine.

Melanie does her best to project the confidence she doesn’t feel until Jon and Tim finally turn away and start running. Melanie clutches the knife and turns around.

Nothing else to do but stand and fight.

Peter’s going to come back once he notices they’re still moving. Tim can feel the obscurity up ahead. They’re getting closer. Now they just had to figure out how to get _in._

He doesn’t hear her door open, but Tim’s pretty sure he knows the second Helen enters the tunnels.

“Having a bit of trouble, are we?” Helen asks with a smile. She’s not making an effort to hide herself anymore. Tim doesn’t know why that surprises him so much. They already know what she is. Why should she contain herself to a human shape for their comfort?

“Helen.” Jon doesn’t snarl, but it’s a near thing.

“I thought I might be able to help you shed some light on your situation.” Helen giggles. Tim doesn’t get the joke. “Honestly, Jon, you’re getting to be quite good at your job. I’m impressed! But these tunnels are almost as much mine as they are Elias’. No one’s going to find anything without a guide.”

“And what does _that_ mean?” Jon snarls.

“I escaped you once, though,” Tim says. “Me and Martin. Well—we escaped _Michael.”_

The thing that once looked like Helen Richardson laughs again.

“You did, didn’t you?” she says. “You’ve escaped a great many places since you’ve started working here. Tell me, what else did you guide yourself through?”

“I was the first one of us to find the tunnels,” Tim continues. He’s not sure how he knows this is what she’s asking, but a part of him can think of nothing else. He swallows. Why does his mouth feel so dry? Wait, scratch that, why was he even answering her in the first place? “First one to find Prentiss’ ritual, too. And I brought Jon and Martin here. Saved them from the worms.”

“That’s not all you saved them from, is it, though?” Her hands are not hands. Tim doesn’t know what’s touching his arm but he wants it to go away. The gesture is too familiar. He tolerates her, yeah, but not enough for her to be acting like they’re _friends._ “Jon would have never survived the Circus if he wasn’t with you. So touching, isn’t it? That two friends who’ve grown apart could still care so much about each other. Enough that they could become something new. Together!”

“Helen,” Jon warns. Tim can’t turn away from the spiralling almost-eyes in his line of sight.

“You’ve always tried to be the one that goes first, haven’t you?” Helen asks him. “To protect your brother, to protect your friends. To protect poor Gerry, from the heartbreak of a lost love. Did it hurt, protecting Jon from all those worms?”

Tim touches his arm. 

“Yeah,” he admits.

It’s still not as strong as it should be. Two months of wearing a cast certainly hadn’t helped, but the problem had started before then. Out of everything they’d taken, the worms had bitten into his arm the most, thanks to his brilliant idea of using it as a shield to save the two of them.

“The Archivist only ever got this far because of you, you know,” she tells him. There’s a pout in her voice. It might’ve been funny, if she had a mouth to go with it. “Without you, he would have been lost. Do you remember your first flat, Tim?”

“It was too large,” Tim says. “Too much for one person. Danny—”

He had still been living with their parents. Tim had been worried.

“I just wanted to make sure he could stay over, if he wanted to.”

“You turned yourself into his north star,” she agrees. And he had. He had been a place to rest when Danny came to shore. No matter what caught his interest, no matter how far he went or for how long—he always came back home to Tim.

Until he didn’t.

“That was all I ever wanted,” he says. “To be there, while he figured it all out. I didn’t need to go on adventures. I was happy just hearing about his. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To listen. To—”

“To watch.” The arms point him in the direction of a not-right darkness. “It wouldn’t be a difficult thing, would it? To light a path through here? To brighten this hallway with your own power?”

“I…” 

“Come on now.” So encouraging. “Light the way, Lodestar.”

He hates how the word flows from her mouth. It’s pretty. It’s windchimes floating in a breeze. It’s something too light and too beautiful for the curse she had spoken.

But she was right, wasn’t she? For a creature of lies, Helen sure knew him. 

It had never really been about the Eye. It had been about _him._ No matter what had found him, he would have always been a guide. He had promises to keep and people to save and he could make all the maps he damn well pleased because he was _Polaris._ The first star on the first map. The savior of the seas since the first sailors left their ports. Not the brightest, not the strongest, but the most _known._

He had almost said it, hadn’t he? The Archivist wouldn’t be able to find Jonah. But he wasn’t the Archivist, was he?

“No,” Tim says. “No, I don’t want that.”

Suddenly, the spell is broken and all he sees is Helen, nothing swirling or twisting about it. 

“And you were getting so close, too.” She sighs.

“You know where Jonah is,” Jon demands. “Bring us to him.”

Helen shakes her head. It doesn’t fall off her shoulders. Her neck doesn’t extend oddly, either. She’s just a normal woman, standing in front of a normal door, looking at him like he’s forgotten to bring food to her potluck. And yet Tim can still feel the light running through his own veins. Can see the scars on his arm turning into their own constellation. He’s sure it’s mirrored in his face as well. Are his eyes glowing as well, or has Helen taken more of his sense then he could return from? He shouldn’t have looked at her so long. There was only one thing that could save you from the incomprehensible, and that was things like—well, things like _him._

Monsters always looked different in the light.

“I don’t think I will,” Helen laughs. “Maybe with the Dark’s star, I might be strong enough… but I’d hate to rob you of this victory. Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind?”

“How _dare_ you,” Jon hisses. Now that Tim’s looking, he can see Jon clenching Manuela’s necklace. Tim hadn’t even noticed he took it. “He never wanted this! Any of this, but especially not—I won’t let you turn him into something like _you._ Maybe I couldn’t save Helen, but you can be damn well certain I’ll save my best friend!”

“Best friend,” Tim echoes. Jon flushes.

“Is that presumptuous of me?” he asks. “I’m sorry, I know you always preferred Sasha, but—well, to me you were always…”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “Me, too. I love you, too, Jon.” 

“Well, _he_ might not want you to reach your full potential, but, luckily, he’s not the only one with an opinion on these matters,” Helen says. Tim snorts.

“Since when do you get a say in what I do with my life?”

“I never said I was talking about myself,” Helen tells him.

“So who—” Tim begins, then laughs. _“Gerry?_ You’re kidding. You think that’s what he wants?”

“Not really,” Helen says. “But I do think you’re running out of time.” She taps a finger to her wrist. Tim can hear a clock tick, but she’s not wearing a watch. “And I think you’re still glowing. _But_ I do hear that it's important for a couple to have common interests. I’d try looking at this from the polished side of the door handle, if I were you.”

Tim swears and checks his arms. She’s right about one thing, at least. He can see the light leaking out of his scars.

“Peter’s book,” Jon says abruptly. 

“What?” Tim says. 

“The Leitner he has controls the tunnels,” Jon reminds him. “Neither of us have to do anything. All we need is—”

“That won’t work,” Helen laughs. Jon glares at her.

“I’m not about to take _your_ word for it!” he snaps. He turns back to Tim. “Tim, you’re my friend. I know you. Whatever humanity you lost in the Circus—I’m sorry. You saved me. You always have. Time and time again. From clowns, from worms, from having to visit America in a desperate attempt to find _something_ about Gerry, from—from being alone in Research! I won’t let you give away any more of yourself. I’m…”

Jon straightens his back.

“I’m the Archivist,” he declares. “And it’s _my_ turn to save _you.”_

Tim stares at him. It feels like there should be something more to this moment than the sound of their own voices, echoing through the tunnels—some swell of music, a change to the lighting—but there isn’t. Everything is exactly the same as before, except Jon’s smiling at him and there’s hope in his eyes. Slowly, he reaches out his hand with the necklace in it. Tim laces their hands together for a moment, then gently pulls the necklace out of Jon’s grasp. He knows what Jon expects him to do with it and he doesn’t think it’ll work, but he thinks the gesture might be enough to save him on its own.

“Don’t forget who you are, starlight,” Helen tells Tim. “The Archivist will still need your glow.”

Tim slips the necklace on over his head.

“Not much chance of that now, is there?” he says, but Helen just smiles at him. They both know it won’t be that easy. 

He knows what he is now. There’s no cure for that.

Flesh Avatars are disgusting. 

It’s not any kind of revelation. He’s learned this fact long ago, but feels it bears repeating every now and then. Especially now, with all the blood and guts decorating the Institute floor. He thinks one of them might’ve bitten Daisy. Ugh.

“Peter’s not here,” Martin calls. He’s been mostly trying to avoid getting involved in the bloodshed, but Daisy’s given him a taser. He’s not defenseless. “Do you think—I mean, he probably went to get Jon and everyone, yeah?”

Daisy swears.

“We should have expected this,” she says. “Bombs are all in place, though.”

“They have Basira,” Manuela reminds him. She’d come up a few minutes after Gerry had, but she’d been alone. “By now, the fire burns too brightly for any of us to join her.”

“Great,” Martin grumbles. He kicks away a creature with teeth. “Why are they _doing_ all this anyway? I mean, there’s got to be _someone_ leading these things, right? So where are they and _why_ did they come _here?"_

Gerry pauses.

What _did_ they want? Basira had looked through Artefact Storage to ensure nothing would escape when they blew the place up. She had moved some of the more volatile ones into Breekon’s van, and those were the only things that would warrant an attack like this. Unless they weren’t looking for a thing, but… 

“Whatever they want, it’s nothing worth blowing themselves up for,” Gerry says. “Probably Hopworth’s lot, though. Not many other Flesh avatars have this kind of following.”

 _“Him?”_ Martin says. “The _gym guy?”_

“That’s—one way of looking at it, yeah,” Gerry says. The bit where he worked for the mafia stuck out more to Gerry, but hey, whatever helps him remember.

“This is stupid,” Martin declares. Before any of them can stop him, he runs into the mob of flesh.

“Jared!” Martin calls out. “Jared Hopworth! Got something to say to you.”

Daisy’s got her finger on her trigger. Gerry gestures at her to wait. He hasn’t seen Hopworth in years, but he’d bet that by now, a few bullets wouldn’t mean too much. Lucky for them, though, the guy wasn’t unreasonable. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him to leave, especially if they tell him the whole place’s going to blow. Something that might happen _really soon_ if the fire in the Archives is as big as Manuela thinks it is.

The crowd parts. Martin stops suddenly as he realizes he’s right in front of Jared, and _man,_ was he as tall as ever. Gerry sees fear flash in Martin’s eyes, but it’s swiftly replaced by determination.

“What do you want?” Hopworth asks in his low, guttural voice.

“Was actually about to ask you the same question,” Martin says. His tone is light, like he’s going for a joke, but Hopworth’s face makes it clear he’s in no mood. “Right. Um. Whatever you’re here for, we don’t have it. It’s just us. And—and we have explosives! Lots of them.”

“He’s not kidding,” Gerry says. Hopworth turns to look at him.

“Keay,” he says. Gerry doesn’t bother correcting him.

“Hopworth,” Gerry says. “Sorry we took some of your’s. Self-defense, you know? But this place _is_ going to blow. Basement’s already on fire. Doubt you want to be here much longer. Whatever you’re after…”

“The Archivist,” Hopworth says.

“Not here,” Gerry says. He doesn’t so much as twitch. Technically, he’s not lying. Jon wasn’t _in_ the Institute, he was under it.

Hopworth considers this.

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll come back,” he warns. “And I’ll take your spine.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Gerry says. Hopworth snorts, then looks back at his army.

“Come on,” he tells them. “We don’t want his bones. ‘S not worth the effort.”

Melanie’s been running for some time now.

That NotSasha thing’s still after her. It hasn’t wandered off to look for Tim or Jon, and means she’s still exactly where she wants to be.

 _A Disappearance_ feels heavy in her hand. It’s only twelve pages. Six, now that everyone had taken a page for themselves. Gerry had told her that if she was going to fight something down here, she’d have to fight smart. Without bloodlust to guide her, the only thing left was to set a trap.

Well. She could do that.

Mike Crew had trapped something in a Leitner, once. It was how he became an avatar.

But it definitely hadn’t been _easy_ for him to trap his monster. And the price—it just wasn’t worth it. Not for her.

Might be a bit easier if she’d brought a different book. Things worked best when they were opposites. Dark, to fight the light. Sense, to fight the nonsense.

She should have asked Basira to come with her. There was nothing more stable than stone.

Gerry’s knife has an eye on the hilt. It’s detailed. Ornate. She knows he must have drawn it, because no one else could make something so beautiful. If she looks at it too long, she’ll get lost in the cut of the iris. NotSasha might, too, but Melanie doesn’t know how to trap her like that.

“Come out and face me!” the creature demands. “Don’t think I don’t see you.”

Melanie has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? She didn’t see Melanie. If she had, she’d be wearing her face by now. All _she_ knew was that there was someone near her who smelled like the Eye. And thanks to the pages, that scent was faded. But if Melanie kept that up much longer, she would fade, too. Already, the words were becoming hard to read. 

She was a little surprised about that part, honestly. Jon had thought it was a Lonely text and something like that had no reason to attack her eyes.

Still. Not important.

Jon had told her about Sasha. About the tapes. Why was everything always about _seeing?_ Even Sasha’s last words were a declaration of sight.

At least that meant Gerry was probably right. As long as she stayed away, the thing wouldn’t get her. Right now, she was safe. But who knew how long that would last?

Melanie picks up a tape recorder from the ground and throws it towards NotSasha. She scuttles away, just as Melanie hoped she would.

The thing is, she doesn’t _need_ to kill her. As long as she stays stuck in the tunnels, she’ll die anyway. Yet another creature that had crossed Tim Stoker, killed by an explosion. Melanie hopes he’ll appreciate it.

G-d. She hopes he’s safe. Hopes they both are.

No time for that now, though. She needs a plan. How does she make this problem disappear? Think, Melanie.

Monsters can be hurt. The scratches she left on NotSasha’s arms when she ran by is proof enough of that. Even if they can’t be killed by someone as human as her, she could still slow them down, but the only thing Melanie knew was that she needed to see her victims, and that—

Well, it was _something_ wasn’t it? 

Maybe it was risky. It was a small target. Easy to miss. Easy to mess up, too. Still, Melanie’s not too worried. In a way, it feels like fate.

After all, she’d been waiting to take someone’s eyes out for some time now.

The tunnels aren’t as confusing as everyone makes them out to be. Especially not with the lines of reflective tape scattered throughout the walls. Gets harder the further down it goes, though. Someone’s probably been using that Leitner Jon mentioned. The one that controls the walls or whatever.

She doesn’t bother calling out for them. Too risky. She doesn’t know where any of them are, or what they’re hiding from. Basira won’t betray them like that. She can’t.

There are less steps down the stairs than there should be. She gets to the right floor way too fast. No reason to question that now, though. She’s got more important things to worry about. Easier to just put it down as luck.

No sign of the others. Or Peter. But there’s something. She can hear it. Doesn’t sound good.

She’s scared. Or, she thinks she is, at least. She can feel her heartbeat rising, but there’s something that pushes her forward despite it. She _has_ to keep walking. What she wants doesn’t matter. She can’t stop now, not when there’s still something to fight.

Peter’s in the tunnels. And he’s not going to be easy to beat, especially if Elias is down here with him. Someone needs to be back-up, and well, Basira’s gotten pretty good at playing sidekick. Just needs to find someone to tell her what to do.

Basira turns a corner, frowns, and turns on her torch. There’s something—

Oh.

Oh _shit._

There’s no words to describe the elongated figure that launches itself at her. It’s _huge._ Tall and terrifying, with claw-like hands and reflective eyes and a clearly conveyed desire to do harm. 

No need to go into any more detail. It’s bad. She doesn’t like it. Sometimes, that’s really all you can say.

Melanie appears next to her before the creature’s attack can land. She goes straight for the eyes, no hesitation, climbing up the thing’s tall torso as it starts clawing at her, scratching at her chest and trying to pull her off.

 _“I see you,”_ Melanie hisses. There’s no hesitation in her strike. Just the single-minded desire to finish what she’s started.

The creature wails. Basira doesn’t know how Melanie’s grip around the thing’s next is so strong, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before one of them slips. Basira takes out her gun.

“Melanie,” she says. 

Melanie drops to the floor, landing with a thud that makes Basira wince. The creature looks her way, liquid dripping out of its damaged eyes. For a moment, Basira feels a tug. Some desire to take another moment, to keep watching and figure out just what exactly the thing in front of her really is.

And then she pulls the trigger.

Like she said. No reason to keep thinking about it.

It’s probably not dead, but the bullet’s enough to keep it off its feet. Basira grabs Melanie’s arm and slings it around her shoulder. Melanie sticks her knife back in the strap around her leg.

“Come on,” Basira says. “We’ve got to find Jon.”

Peter’s annoyed they found him again.

No surprise there, honestly. Avatar of the Lonely doesn’t want to be seen.

“You know, I had a bet with Elias,” he tells them. “I told him I didn’t think you’d figure it out. That you’d be foolish enough to fall into all the traps he laid out for you, same as Gertrude.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jon says dryly. Peter doesn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in his voice.

“He was _so close,_ too,” Peter continues. “I really did think I’d get you to go to the Church. But, no, someone convinced you to actually take care of your body. And then there was that coffin. It would have been _perfect!_ But of course, someone else took that mark, too. Now, that one _really_ put a damper on our plans. You even managed to convince Melanie to get that bullet out before she could hurt you! That almost _never_ happens. Have you met a Slaughter avatar before? They’re quite stubborn.”

“Get to the _point,_ Peter,” Jon snaps. _“What are you trying to do?”_

“Me?” Peter laughs. “I’m trying to save the world.”

The Leitner is in his hands. He’s not even protecting it. Just waving it around as he speaks. It’d be _so easy_ to snag it from him. He wouldn’t even notice. Not if he keeps _monologuing_ at them.

“You know, I really wanted to be the ones to stop you,” Peter continues. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You’re all useless to Elias like this. You know too much. And of course, you’re getting very lucky, too. Jared Hopworth is probably standing right above us, but you’re nowhere _near_ close enough for him to take a rib or two.”

“So you were trying to mark me, then?” Jon says. It’s meant as an accusation, but Tim doubts Peter feels any guilt for his part in all of this. “I suppose that means it’s your turn now. Unless you’re serious about saving the world.”

Peter laughs.

“Elias and I want two very different things,” he says. “But a bet is a bet. It’d be much easier to send Martin away, but of course, the _who_ doesn’t really matter. Just as long as it ends with you in my domain.”

Tim lunges at Peter, but the man just turns to look him in the eye. He smiles. A familiar weight knocks Tim down. He scrambles upwards, clutching the Leitner in his hand, but it doesn’t matter now, because he looks at the space beside him, and there’s no one there.

Jonathan Sims is gone.

Is it any surprise that Elias shows up right when he’s finally completely alone? Tim wants to say it’s intentional, but the suit he’s wearing suggests he had taken a few detours before actually getting to the tunnels. Of fucking course the asshole would be late to his own assassination because he wanted a _wardrobe change._ Always had to look like the one in charge.

“Jonah,” Tim says.

“Hello, Tim,” Elias says pleasantly. “You know, I’m rather glad to see you here, honestly. Perhaps you’ll think twice about your insubordination once you realize just how useless it is to try and defy me.”

“Bring him back,” Tim demands. Elias laughs.

“Why would I do that?” he asks. “Right now, Jon’s exactly where I want him. I didn’t think we’d get to be so blatant about it, but well, it was you who decided to escalate things, wasn’t it? I merely played into the role I was assigned.”

“Bullshit,” Tim says. “You’re _glad_ this happened, aren’t you? All you’ve ever wanted was the chance to put us in our place.”

Elias places a hand on his chest.

“Why, Timothy, I’m hurt,” he says. “I would never do anything to harm my Archives. Not when I’m so proud of every one of you.”

Tim tenses at the compliment. He had already taken Jon. There was no need to remind him of the words that had trapped him here. The nervous laugh Jon gave Tim when he had first admitted he was taking the position. The _“Well, I wasn’t sure, but Elias said he knew right away I was the right person for the job.”_ The _“He was so impressed with my work in Research, Tim, did you know…”_

The main reason Tim had gone with Jon to the Archives was because of Danny. Because he knew that the resources his new position had would help him find everything he was looking for. But that conversation… well, it had definitely made him want to keep an eye on things, to say the least.

“Jon will come back on his own,” Elias continues. “Or he won’t, in which case I suppose I’ll have to find a new Archivist. It’s a pity Basira is no longer my Detective. She would have made for a rather impressive replacement.”

“He won’t come back from that,” Peter says, confident. “He may have avoided all the others, but all that means is that he hasn’t prepared himself enough to face me.”

Elias chuckles.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” he says. He smiles at Tim. “Unless, of course, you go looking for him.”

Tim opens his mouth to speak, but Elias talks over him.

“But of course, you won’t do that, would you?” he asks. “You value your humanity far too much for something like this. Interesting, isn’t it? All your life you’ve seen yourself as someone who would do _anything_ for the people you love, and yet…”

Elias smirks.

“Why do you care?” Tim demands. “I thought you said he could get out on his own.”

Elias hums.

“Oh, he could,” he says, “Probably. But he’s never come back from something like this before. He would have, if you all had followed my plan instead of gallivanting around, but, well… With his current abilities, I’d imagine it’d be quite difficult. And, of course, I am a bit curious to see how your involvement changes things.”

Tim laughs at that.

“Right,” he says. “Because I’m a _rogue element.”_

Elias opens his mouth to answer, then suddenly clutches his face in pain.

“What is this?” he demands. _“What did you do?”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tim doesn’t know if he’s being compelled or not, but he’s too surprised to even think about lying. Elias claws at his eyes.

“I’ve been watching them all,” Elias mutters. “We gave them distractions! They shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, Elias,” Basira says. There’s a bloodied Melanie at her side. “Saw that corpse of yours down the hall. Thought you’d’ve hidden it better.”

She turns to Tim.

“Dunno what all the fuss was about, honestly,” she tells him. “It’s just another room. Felt like it was almost _begging_ me to find it. Nothing special about it.”

Whatever Elias planned to say to her, it’s interrupted by a gasp.

“Of course,” he hisses. “I should have suspected that _someone_ would have spoken through you.”

“Maybe you just had a bad plan,” Melanie says. Her voice comes out strange. Slurred, slightly, most likely thanks to the pain, and the scratch on her face. They should have never left her alone with that monster, but he’s so, so glad to see she’s alright.

“They took Jon,” Tim says. “We were right. They needed him marked. I have to go after him, I—”

“No you don’t,” Basira says. Tim laughs at that.

“I do,” he insists. Why didn’t she understand? There was a fire running through his veins that would never die. What was the point of burning himself up if he couldn’t use his stupid glowstick powers to find his best friend? “Someone has to save him. And Helen—she called me _Lodestar.”_

“Fancy,” Basira says, but it’s clear she hasn’t changed her mind.

“Basira,” Tim begs. “I _need_ to. Jon’s strong, but he’s not walk out of a different dimension strong.”

“You aren’t either,” Basira says. She walks closer. “But I am. _Well._ Daisy was, at least. And according to your partner, that’s practically the same thing.”

Tim stares at her. 

“Take care of Melanie, alright?” Basira continues. “I’ll go find him.”

“You won’t come back from something like that,” Elias scoffs. “Not with your current inclinations. How do you expect to find him in the vast expanse of loneliness by simply running in without a plan, or a guide?”

“Dunno,” Basira admits. “But Gerard promised to look after Daisy for me. According to him, that’s my ticket out of everything. And if he’s right—well, at the very least, I’ve got to try and save his boyfriend from trying to deal with a problem he can’t fix, don’t I?”

“You’ll never find it on your own,” Elias insists, but he looks worried. Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen Elias look so tense. Basira just tilts her head.

“See, people keep telling me that,” she says. “You especially. No way to get through the Unknowing, no chance of coming back from the Coffin… but here I am. Call it what you like. An indomitable stone, an unblinking seeker… I’m the one who carves out a path. You don’t have to show me anything, Elias. It’s the Lonely. I’ll find it on my own.”

She sets Melanie down gently.

“Hey,” Basira says softly. “It’s Elias. Got enough left in you for one more fight?”

Melanie moans.

“Five more minutes,” she says.

“I could find him,” Tim insists. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, and you do?” Basira says. “I tried to save Jon once, and it just made things worse for the both of us. Maybe this is how I make up for it. Maybe I was meant to keep doing the same thing over and over, till I finally get it right.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Tim argues. Basira laughs.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Been having a lot of those lately. But it’s still mine.”

“But the Web—”

“Honestly, I think a part of me knew it would always end like this,” Basira says. “I kept convincing myself I didn’t, but it’s all just a justification, you know? Things happened because I wanted them to. I helped Daisy hurt people. Not because I was scared, but because I thought they deserved it, too. But you don’t deserve to be turned into something you’re not. And Jon doesn’t deserve to rot just because he got chosen for some stupid fake archiving position. If that’s all I have to tell myself to justify sinking deeper… well, at least it’s for a good cause.”

“Are you really so ready to give up what’s left of your humanity?” Elias demands. Basira laughs.

“It all comes down to that, doesn’t it?” she asks him. _“Humanity._ You called me Daisy’s last link to her’s. I remember hating you both _so much_ for that. You stopped us because we made the bad decision to care about each other. Couldn’t imagine caring about anything after that, honestly. Especially not _people._ Which is why I’m not doing this because we’re all friends.”

Basira takes another step towards Tim.

“I didn’t have a chance to save Leo,” she says. “Couldn’t even talk about it, because we were supposed to pretend the whole thing never happened. Only choice I had about that was whether I could take Gertrude’s tapes when I left. Think that might’ve been my first real delivery, actually.” She grins at Elias. “All because _you_ called in with a tip. Guess that’s what happens when the Eye tries to act all Web.”

“Basira…” Tim says. Basira looks back at him.

“All I’ve ever cared about is revenge,” she says. “You understand, don’t you? He’s responsible for some of the worst days of my life. Now I get to help do the same for him. It’s payback, pure and simple.” 

She hands him Melanie’s knife, then laughs.

“Guess none of us are getting the kill we wanted today,” she says. Tim stares at the knife. It’s too heavy. He did understand. Everything was so much simpler when it was only about revenge, but this… 

Tim takes off Manuela’s necklace. Maybe he wouldn’t survive the journey, but a star didn’t have to move to guide. Tim already had a map of the tunnels in his mind. It’s not too hard to add a few more hidden passages to what he already knows, even if those passages lead into something as ephemeral as fog. That was the thing about Smirke’s buildings. This had never been a temple to just one fear.

“Go left,” Tim says. “No, wait—take the second left. It’ll get you there faster.” 

Basira raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question it. 

“Right,” she says. “Of course. And straight on till morning, yeah?”

Tim gives a weak laugh.

“Well, hey,” he says. “No need to take that long.”

Jon can’t remember how he got here. He feels like he _should_ know. That he’s disappointing some faceless stranger with his own ignorance, but… Jon can’t think of anything.

There is fog. There is water. And there is him. This is his world in its entirety.

He thinks he should be able to leave. A stronger person would have been able to, certainly, but, well—he’s always been so weak.

Jon reaches for his cane. He can’t find it. That’s not right. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without it. Unless this is all there’s ever been of him? That doesn’t _sound_ right, but…

There’s someone waiting for him beyond the fog. He can’t remember who, but he knows… he knows…

Someone had let him borrow a jacket. Someone had given him a sticker for his cane. Someone braided his hair back and kissed him on the cheek. And the light—

There is someone out there who misses him. He just wishes he could remember _who._

There’s a tape recorder running. 

He can’t see it, but he knows it’s there. He shouldn’t be surprised. It seems that most things appear to be out of his reach.

“Get out of the water, Jon,” Basira says.

Is _that_ where he is? In the water? It would explain why he’s shivering. Someone would be very cross with him for being so careless. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone fussed over him quite terribly after this.

There… _is_ there an “after this?”

“Are you going to take me away again?” Jon asks. He doesn’t bother turning to face her. He touches the scar on his neck. That, he remembers.

“I—that wasn’t me, Jon,” Basira says. She sounds—upset? Embarrassed? It’s hard to say. All emotions feel so far away right now, even his own.

“No,” Jon insists. “You came later. And you made me go back, even though you knew it wasn’t safe.”

Jon curls his legs up underneath him.

“He wanted me terrified. And so did she,” Jon continues. He pauses and turns around. “Oh. Good. You’re alone.”

“I think I have to be,” Basira admits. She hesitates, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think. I know. Everytime I befriend someone stronger than me, I always just—I try to _use_ them. I needed Daisy because she was powerful. I needed Melanie because she had no mercy. And I needed you—”

Basira sighs and walks closer. The water around her ripples as she does. 

“I needed you because I needed answers,” Basira admits. “I’m sorry. You deserved better than being forced to talk to someone who framed you for murder. You should have… I really wish we let you go, Jon. But I don’t think either of us were capable of that.”

“It was a hunt,” Jon says. There’s not many places to hide in the water, but the fog makes the distance between them seem greater. “And I’m a rabbit.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Basira says. “That’s not who I am. Maybe it was, but… It’s like, all of you heard Annabelle call me _Stone_ and assumed I was an arrowhead, but I’m—I don’t know. I guess it’s not important now.”

Basira shakes her head.

“Tim’s killing Jonah Magnus,” she says. “I can bring you to him. You’d be safe.”

Jon stares at her, wide-eyed.

“You’re not allowed to lie to me,” he says.

“I’m _not,”_ Basira insists. “I found his body. His corpse, I mean. It wasn’t hard. Tossed him in the Coffin, just like you wanted. You left it pretty close by, actually. Not sure why you couldn’t have found it yourself, but, well, happy to help, I guess.”

Jon should respond. The death of Jonah means a return to safety, doesn’t it?

Oh. Right.

This is what Jonah wanted. Jon can’t leave this lake, not even to find the stars beyond the fog. _He’s_ the danger. He always has been. That was why Daisy had hurt him. It wasn’t meaningless violence. It couldn’t be. She had come at him with _purpose._ He was going to end the world. He should have thanked her for her part in stopping it.

“You know,” Basira says, “I stared at the body for a real long time. Weird to think about how pushing over a corpse could give me everything I ever wanted, but… I spent years as a cop looking for some way to outgun the shit we faced. Spent _months_ combing through the Institute’s library looking for a way out. And this was it! Finally, I could have some real revenge. And that wasn’t going to be because I was stronger, or because I could smell his fear, or whatever else Daisy could do. I defeated Elias. Me. Why the hell had I spent all this time looking for a fight? It never came down to that, not really. I didn’t need to bulldoze my way into a happy ending. I just needed… faith, I guess. I had to trust that we could work together. It’s a chain reaction. Ripple effect, or whatever. Trapping his body made him weak. I don’t need to see what happens next to know the pieces are coming together. Just like how Tim’s trusting _me_ to get _you.”_

Were the pieces coming together? That didn’t sound too good for him.

“Oh,” Jon says. “We were in the Institute, weren’t we?”

“I—yeah, Jon,” Basira says. “We were.”

Jon looks up at the sky.

“But it’s raining.” 

The fog is thicker now. Too thick to see through, even with the strange light reflecting off of Basira’s stony form.

Jon thinks he hears her curse before she disappears.

Ah, well. Probably for the best.

He was busy, anyway, wasn’t he? Thinking of someone. Someone with kind eyes, always filled with understanding. Someone who massaged his burnt hand when the pain took over. Someone who rolled their eyes whenever they were assigned a task, but always checked in to make sure he was alright. Someone who made him tea with just the right amount of sugar, or no, did someone always prefer coffee and tease him about how he couldn’t stand the taste? Either way, a warm drink is a warm drink. He wouldn’t mind having either now, especially if he could have one while he pets someone’s cat, but, no that’s not the right someone, is that?

It doesn’t matter.

He shouldn’t be thinking of someone. If he does, he’ll want to find them. But he can’t, can he? Someone makes him happy. He hasn’t earned that right.

It’s for the best, anyway. He doesn’t want to come back if he’s still tied to something. What’s the point? The Lonely, the Institute, the Eye itself… if they want him so bad, they can have him.

The Archivist could find his way out of the fog, but the Archivist was a creature of destruction. Someone born and bred to cause pain. 

After everything that had happened, was it really so awful of him to want to just be Jon?

 _“Jon!”_ Basira again. She’s soaking wet. There’s blood on her shirt. “Jon, I’m so sorry, please, just—just come home!”

“I don’t have a home,” Jon reminds her. “You went looking for me there, and I couldn’t return.”

A sickly shudder runs through Basira’s body.

“Are you cold?”

“I’ve always been cold, Jon,” Basira says. There are tears in her eyes. “Jon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—Daisy was _my_ home, and I got so mad at you and Gerard, because I thought your fear was taking that away from me, but that wasn’t fair. We took _so much_ from you, and you still worked with me for _months_ without saying anything. If Gerard didn’t complain about Daisy, would you have? Would you have just tried to… deal with it? Worked through the fear every day for the rest of your life until one of you died?”

Jon stretches out his legs and blinks at her.

“I thought she knew,” he says. “Can’t you both smell my fear?”

Basira opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks away.

“Did you kill Peter?” Jon asks idly. “Someone’s going to be very happy about that.”

“I shot him,” Basira says. “Daisy said he wasn’t worth killing, so I didn’t go for the vitals.”

She wrings out her shirt.

“Didn’t stop him from sinking like a stone.”

Jon feels nothing about the death of Peter Lukas.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s nice.”

“Come home, Jon,” Basira says.

“I can’t,” Jon says. “I love it too much.”

“Jon.” Basira’s voice cracks. “Jon, you’re not the monster here. You never were. It’s me, Jon. I’m the one who gave you Gertrude’s tapes. I’m the one who encouraged you to start looking into everything. I’m the one who told you to start going around _compelling_ people! I came here because I knew it’d make Elias mad, but I never thought even for a second how being here might hurt you. And I—the _moment_ I heard Gertrude say the Archivist was the key to Jonah’s ritual, I looked at you and thought, ‘Well, there he is. That’s my enemy now.’”

Jon shivers.

“But I was _wrong,”_ Basira continues. “I saw you getting along with everyone else and I thought it was so stupid they were trying to be friends with a time bomb. Of course they were your friends. You’re a good person. You’re funny, and you’re clever, and I wish I got a chance to know you as something other than our prime suspect in a murder case.”

Basira sits down next to him. Jon stiffens. Basira frowns, and inches slightly further away.

“I wish you had someone better to save you,” she admits. “I didn't think about how bad I'd be at this. I'm not sure what kind of comfort you need right now, but I know I can’t give it to you. And it wouldn't mean anything coming from me. I can't tell you to trust me. I don't deserve to ask for something like that. Tim—he wanted to come in after you. I couldn’t let him. The others wouldn’t be able to stand it if you both got trapped in here. That’s the real reason I came instead. Not because I’ve got my anchor, but because she’s the only one who’d miss me. You’ve still got a life, Jon. You won’t be the Archivist forever.”

Basira holds out a hand.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” she says. “But there’s someone out there who misses you, Jon. More than just _one._ And I know you don't want to let them down."

And she's right.

He doesn't just have Martin, who made him tea and massaged his hand and professed his love to him every day in glances, if not with words. Not just Tim, who had helped him decorate his cane, and helped convince him to grow out his hair. He had Georgie, who hid him in her flat without question. Melanie had put herself between him and Basira time and again, though she always refused to admit how much she cared. And Gerry had been there, too. With kind eyes and enough information to save him. They had all helped him. His friends had made sure that one more scare wouldn’t end him. That one new mark wouldn’t be enough to change the world. And Basira… Basira had not offered him any comfort, not through any of it. And he had thought he understood why. But she had still rushed to his aid when he needed it. Pushed him towards the right path when he could find none. Would she miss him, too, if he stayed here? Would she finally be able to convince herself that they had always been in this together, if he left?

Jon takes Basira’s hand.

“Right,” she says, helping him stand. “Time to get out of the rain.”

But the rain is over now, and the fog is lifting. Jon can even see the familiar stone walls of the tunnels ahead of them. He takes a step forward.

And then there is light.

Tim can’t leave until Jon’s back. Can’t leave until he kills Elias, either, but he’s not sure how he’d manage that. And of course, there’s Melanie, still bleeding out on the floor, but—

But he can’t leave without Jon.

His arm is a constellation again. It glows, though he knows the rest of him doesn’t. That’s… that’s fine. The scars Prentiss gave him left an entire galaxy of potential stars. If this is the only price of knowledge—or no, the only price of saving _Jon—_ he’ll take it. Of course he will.

At least Peter is gone. Tim doesn’t like the thought of dealing with the both of them at once.

“Well?” Elias asks. His smile is so wide. So _mocking._ Calm down a little, Bouchard. You’re stealing the Circus’ favorite trick. “I believe you were planning on killing me?”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Tim warns. Elias’ eyes keep twitching. It almost looks like—

Oh, of _course._

Tim doesn’t know Morse Code. He’s not sure Elias does, either, but code’s not the only way to send a message. 

“Hey, Elias,” Tim says suddenly. “What’s the plan here? I mean, really. Say you end the world. What comes next?”

Elias snorts. 

“No, I mean it,” Tim insists. “Come on, Magnus. We’ve known each other for _years._ Don’t I deserve at least a little evil monologue?”

“You’re stalling,” Elias says.

“Tell me anyway,” Tim says.

“To prove I can,” Elias replies. Then he frowns, like he hadn’t planned on saying even that much. “I want fame. Notoriety. To be the man who ended everything, now, _that_ is a title the world wouldn’t forget.”

“Sure,” Tim agrees easily. “What’s left of it, at least.”

To the side of him, Melanie shakily gets to her feet. Her eyes seem distant, but not as far away as he feared. Still, he wishes he had a painkiller to give her or something.

“You’re not attacking me,” Elias notes. Tim spins the knife in his hands.

“Maybe I just want to have a friendly conversation,” he says. “You, me, and our pal Elias.”

Elias stiffens for a moment, then laughs.

“Is that what this is?” he says. “You want to talk to _him?_ I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Tim, but though his heart still beats, he is dead in every way that matters.”

“Maybe,” Tim says. He’s doing the math in his head. Gerry said that not all avatars of the Eye could compel people. Forcing someone to speak didn’t have much to do with stars, but Tim had never needed to _force_ anyone to tell him anything. He had never needed to.

“Why’d you want to be director of a place like this, anyway?” Tim asks.

“Because he told me I was ready,” Elias says, then covers his mouth. The shock in his eyes is _delicious._ Tim grins.

“Elias,” Tim says. “What’d you think of James Wright?”

Elias bites his lip and glares at Tim.

“That’s as far as you go,” Elias warns. “That was clever of you, I’ll give you that. But I haven’t lived as long as I have to be bested by a man who’s only just now accepted what he is. Wait here, if you must, but I have an Institute to watch over. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all of those _explosives_ you’ve placed.”

Elias’ lip curls upwards into a snarl. Tim laughs.

“No, I get it,” he says. “You’re right. I’m no Archivist. Go disarm our bombs, if you want. Sure that’ll be a fun waste of the rest of your night. Do you need sleep? Doesn’t matter. Definitely won’t be getting any if you want this place running by tomorrow.”

Another glare. Elias squints at him, like he’s not sure what Tim’s planning. It’s a fun thing to see, from your omniscient boss. Dunking him in the Coffin really must have messed up his ritual. Score one for team Archives.

“You’re right about something else, too,” Tim continues. “I _was_ stalling.”

Jon and Basira are back. It’s timed so perfectly, it’s almost cinematic. Tim can’t help but grin as the walk back into the hallway Tim’s standing in.

“Hey, boss,” he says. Jon looks at him, then back at Elias. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Actually, I was waiting for you. Think there’s something you might want to hear.”

Jon opens his mouth, but Tim tilts his head toward Elias. Then he finds the tape recorder hidden on the floor and tosses it to Jon. Basira catches it instead. Tim can’t help but wince when he realizes how wet the two of them are. Jon, what were you _doing?_

“I know what you’re planning,” Elias says. He sounds bored. “You can’t hide from me with such a poor attempt at subterfuge.”

“Not really any reason to hide, is there?” Tim asks. He looks back at Jon, who nods.

“Elias Bouchard,” Jon says. _“Give me your statement.”_

“I was just a filing clerk,” Elias says. The words leave his mouth like an undammed river. There’s fear in his eyes. He had never expected Jon to be capable of this, but he is, and now his mouth can’t stop moving and the voice that comes out is hoarse and careful, like a man who’s gone years without speaking. They all know who’s talking to them now. How could they not?

“I never believed in ghosts, not really. I’d never had any encounters of the supernatural of my own and assumed anyone who claimed to had been indulging in a substance I’ve spent many years longing for. I applied to the Institute because I thought that it would either be filled with liars that were, like myself, looking for an easy paycheque, or idiotic true believers I could fool into thinking I shared their values. I wasn’t a great person. I knew it then, and I know it now. I had one goal in life, and it was to enjoy myself. I would have been happy with any job, just as long as they didn’t ask too much of me. But I went here. Fake or not, it just sounded fun.

“The first time Wright promoted me, I wasn’t surprised. I never thought about money. Growing up, I had plenty, and assumed it would always be there for me, just as I assumed I would continue to be handed the things I wanted. At that moment, all I wanted was a raise, and so I considered myself lucky and thought nothing of it.

“And then I was promoted again. With his thoughts in my head, I can see how much he planned it out. Elias Bouchard, file clerk, could not become the Director. There would be too many questions. But if I had been his assistant by the time he died, well, people might be more inclined to look the other way. And, more importantly, I wouldn’t suspect a thing. It was still too fast. Fast enough that I remember the scrutiny of my coworkers. _‘Why him?’_ their eyes seemed to say. _‘What makes him so much better than me?’_

“If I was smarter, if I had thought more about the world I was living in, I might have realized something was wrong. But I was too in love with my own ego. Their jealousy did nothing but fuel my ego. I wanted to make them mad. I _knew_ I didn’t deserve it, and I was so proud of myself for getting it anyway. When he told me I would be the next director, I didn’t question it. Instead, I shook his hand and told him I would be honored to replace him.

“I thought I was special. That’s really all there is to it. I came from a long line of well off assholes who cared about nothing but themselves and saw no reason not to let history repeat itself. But I’m tired now. His life is tied to mine and I am _so tired._ Your Gerry once said that a title was who you were without your humanity, and in that regard, Jonah Magnus has ruined us both. You will always be his Archives. Not because of any choice that you, Jonathan Sims, has made, but because _he_ made you into the thing he needed you to be. And I’m the same. He’s stolen my name. My face. My _life._ All I have left is his eyes. Of course he lets me see. Of course I’m forced to watch everything. The scars he gave us won’t go away. You will always be the Archivist. And I, despite all my efforts, will forever be Director Elias Bouchard.

“We both know what happens next. Either it comes by your hand, or mine. I wish I could there was something I could tell you to make it worth this, but nothing has ever been worth the pain knowledge brings. All I can offer is this one warning: don’t let him take the Archives. Don’t let him use _you._

“There is only one way my story can end, and I've been waiting so long for that day. Trauma hasn’t changed me. Or if it has, not for the better. I’ve only ever cared about my own happiness and I haven’t been happy for a _very_ long time. I never wanted to become a martyr and I won’t let you call me one now. But I can feel him, clawing to take back our voice. _My_ voice. I won’t let him. If nothing else, my death will be my own. I’ll spend my final hour cursing his name, and hope that this first act of rebellion hurts him enough to curse my own. 

“The tape’s still running, isn’t it? Good. Let’s show it how a statement should end.”

And with his final breath, Elias takes the knife from Tim’s hands and kills the demon inside of him.

The relief Gerry feels at seeing Tim again is indescribable. He wants to rush over and pull his boyfriend in his arms, but something about the state Melanie’s in and the waterlogged figure of Jon walking next to them makes him hesitate. Basira dumps the water out of her gun as Tim gives Gerry a weak smile. Gerry returns it.

Jon looks at all of them, Gerry’s knife, now bloodied, grasped in one hand, and says, “Elias Bouchard is dead.” And then, “Someone needs to blind me.”

“You killed him?” Martin asks, half surprised, half in awe at the thought. “You killed Jonah Magnus?”

“Elias killed him,” Jon says, handing Gerry back his knife. “He told me I’m still the Archivist.”

“Jon, wait,” Gerry says. “Slow down. Why do we need to blind you?”

“Because we wanted to burn down the Archives,” Jon says. “I’m the Archives.”

Well, shit. Hadn’t expected that one.

“I’ll do it,” Daisy says suddenly. Gerry stares. “If he wants to be free, now's the time. Anyone have anything sharp? Something that isn’t covered in blood, I mean. Don’t want to risk a weird infection.”

“Melanie needs medical attention,” Basira says. “We should deal with that first.”

Gerry turns to look towards her. She seems… different, somehow. He thinks he’s expecting to find webs, but all he sees is a drenched woman adjusting her hijab.

“We should blow up the _building_ first,” Melanie insists. “I didn’t get to do shit today. Someone give me the detonator.”

Daisy holds it out in front of her.

“Was considering giving it to Tim,” she admits. “Thought it’d be funny if we made a tradition out of it.”

Tim laughs and rubs his arm.

“No,” he says. “No, I think I’ve exploded enough buildings. I’ll give someone else a chance.”

“Right, then,” Melanie pauses. “Unless Manuela wants to do it? Probably makes for some pretty sweet revenge.”

Manuela laughs.

“Tempting as it is, I did not come here out of such a petty desire,” she says. “Though it may have been that way at the start, my desire to destroy this place has quickly become secondary to my desire to protect my new home.”

“Aww,” Melanie says. “That’s sweet, but I think I’m losing a lot of blood, so I’m going to press the button now.”

Her arm shoots out in front of her, but she misses her mark. Daisy gently leads her hand to the detonator.

And then, well, _obviously,_ there’s the explosion. Gerry’s very glad they’re all too far to get hit by the debris. 

“Huh,” Basira says as they watch the flames. “I thought it’d feel different.”

“Feels pretty good to me, honestly,” Tim says. He kisses Gerry’s cheek, then winces. “Babe, there is a _lot_ of blood on you right now.”

“It’s not mine,” Gerry reassures him. Well, it mostly wasn’t. He definitely had a few bruises, though.

“Guess I’m just not too interested in fire,” Basira tells Tim.

“I think we should leave before someone calls the police,” Manuela says.

“I guess we should all go to A&E?” Martin says. Daisy shakes her head.

“You bring Melanie,” she tells him. “They’ll assume it was an animal attack. Sims, though, that’s a different story.”

“And you know how to make things like this look like an accident,” Martin says dryly.

“Not really,” Daisy says. “But at least if I go in with him, they can’t blame you.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Tim says. Jon hesitates.

“We shouldn’t all go to A&E,” he says. “It would look suspicious.”

“I cannot stay anywhere filled with so many lights,” Manuela reminds them.

“And I should go home,” Gerry says. Gerry had texted Mike to tell him he was fine, but they both knew Gerry had a high tolerance for what he considered okay. Mike wouldn’t believe he was safe until he saw Gerry with his own eyes.

“I can come by later,” Tim says. He squeezes Gerry’s hand. “But Jon deserves to have someone hold his hand through all of this.”

“I would appreciate that,” Jon agrees.

“Only fair,” Gerry agrees. “Melanie got that, too.”

He hesitates.

“I could still come by,” he says. “Just a bit later.”

Jon shakes his head.

“I doubt I’ll be thinking too much about my surroundings,” he says.

“If you’re sure,” Gerry says. “Manuela can come back to mine, then. Check in on Melanie for us, yeah? If she wants to, I mean.”

Manuela hesitates, then nods. Gerry looks at Basira.

“Guess that just leaves you,” he says.

“Tell Martin to text me,” Basira says. “I want to know if Melanie’s all right.”  
“Sure,” Gerry says. Martin’s already escorting Melanie out. He keeps sneaking glances back towards them, specifically Jon and Daisy, but they both seem relatively calm. Too calm for what they’re about to do, honestly, but adrenaline did powerful things to your ability to fear. Tim’s standing between them. He looks tired.

Gerry turns back to Basira and waits, but that’s it. End of conversation.

“We’re not friends, Gerard,” she reminds him, but it sounds gentle, now. He can see the understanding in her face. She knows where her own lack of anchors will lead her, and yet, here she is. Still avoiding the chance for a new beginning. “It’s not a bad thing. You have your life to get back to, and I have mine.”

“And what life is that?” Gerry asks carefully. Basira considers the question.

“First, I’m going to visit my parents,” she says. “I haven’t seen them in a while. Last time we got together we argued about something stupid, too. Don’t want that to be how they remember me. After that…”

Basira shrugs.

“Someone needs to clean out Breekon’s van,” she says. “Find a place to hide everything. Think whatever happens after that, I’ll just leave to fate.”

He doesn’t like how she says it, but Gerry doesn’t want a fight. He wishes he could say he likes her now. It’d be nice if life were that simple, but he had never lived in a world where trust could be so easily regifted. Basira had done something brave and selfless and amazing, and Gerry had no idea if that’d carry on till tomorrow.

Sometimes, bad people did good things. Michael had saved Gerry’s life, once, and he had also tortured plenty. No one was a monster all the time. Not throats of delusion, or women with webs, or even a stone-cold copper.

“Thanks for keeping them safe,” he says. Something in Basira’s eyes ripples. 

“Protect and serve, I guess,” she says.

So, that’s it then. They’ve saved the world. Like, really saved it this time. 

Just like Gertrude wanted.

No, he doesn’t want to think about that. 

They didn’t blow up the building for her. This wasn’t the noble sacrifice she wanted it to be. It was about looking forward. It was about being _free._

Mike’s relieved to see him get home safe. He doesn’t say anything, but Gerry can see the tension leaving his shoulders. Still feels weird having someone worried about him. Kira did, of course, but they had never known enough to realize how much he’d been risking.

By the time Tim comes by, Gerry’s already fallen asleep curled up next to Manuela and Mike. 

“Melanie’s alright,” Tim says as he walks inside. “Jon, too. The nurses were giving us all kinds of weird looks, so he tried to insist he did it to himself, but I’m not sure if they believed him. He’s asleep now. Painkillers and all that.”

“I’m glad,” Gerry says. “You should take a shower.”

“I should,” Tim laughs. He pauses for a moment, then laughs again. “Sorry.”

He keeps laughing. Tim covers his mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s still shaking, slightly.

“I’m not trying to… make light,” he begins. “I can’t—must be the adrenaline, or something, but—”

“Yeah,” Gerry says. “I get it. We were always planning on doing the impossible, but it always feels different once it’s actually done.”

And that’s when Tim starts crying. Gerry walks over and wraps him in his arms. He kisses his hand, then his cheek. The tears don’t stop.

“I never thought it would end,” Tim whispers. Manuela and Mike are still asleep. Or, they’re pretending to be, at least. Gerry holds him tighter.

“I know,” he says softly. He kisses Tim’s neck. “But it’s over now. We won. Only people who get to fuck up our lives now is ourselves.”

Tim snorts at that and rests his head on Gerry’s shoulder.

“Lucky us,” he says. Gerry runs a hand through his hair.

“I love you,” he says suddenly. “Stop laughing! I really do.”

“Sorry,” Tim says through another snicker. “I’m just—glad to be alive, I guess. Love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: implied eye trauma, lonely-typical depression fog & dissociation, and the casual horror of existing around the distortion
> 
> you made it!! the archives is over! love wins! i hope it was everything you were hoping for! i know jared shows up in december, and it's technically still october in my fic, but hey. even flesh avatars get bored sometimes.  
> up next: a trip to the hospital to see a friend. a book launch. and, finally, a happy ending


	14. Prayers for Hestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light the fire for the offering. May Hestia keep your home safe and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banned book this week: an old diary, found in your grandmother's attic. the spine looks well-loved

[SOUND OF SHUFFLING PAPERS AS SOMEONE IN THE BACKGROUND HESITATES]

YOUNG GERTRUDE

Well… Suppose this is as good a place as any to get this down. Er, statement of Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist, regarding an… _attempted_ banishment ritual of the entity known as Agnes Mo— 

[The tape cuts out for a moment. Whatever she was about to say has been overwritten by a new voice. Music plays in the background. Every so often, someone’s coffee order is called]

AGNES MONTAGUE

[AMUSED]

I hope I’m not taping over anything important. _(pause)_ I’m sorry, that’s a bad joke. I know I am. You’ll have to forgive me for indulging in my nature. Or have you planned that as well? Frankly, I’m not sure I know why you’ve given this to me. Unless this is a gift?

Is this a gift, Gertrude? It must be, because you don’t strike me as the kind of woman to leave things behind. Or is this your way of asking for my statement? I have heard you’re rather sneaky. I’m sure you know how much my followers would hate the thought of me exposing myself to you. They’re not too fond of me having friends.

AGNES

[AS IF SHE’S QUOTING SOMEONE]

“Nothing will be left once the fire is light, Agnes. Nothing human will remain. Only smoke and ash.”

AGNES

I’ve been having a lot of doubts lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed. My heart beats in your chest, after all, just as yours beats it mine. Does it hurt you, Gertrude? Yours does. It feels cold, sometimes. So tender. Some days, it’s as if my lungs are made of ice, and I must find a way to cool myself before it melts into my stomach. And yet still, I find myself worried for you. Because I know how strong my own heart is, and I worry it will be too much for you. Is this what it means to be human? To feel yourself become fragile? To see the world as if it was all just a glass blown bauble? I don’t think I can hurt something trying so hard to survive. 

If I tell you my story now, will you dream of me? A silly thing to wish for, I know, but I think I would like the company. Even I see you as a monster. Even if all you do is stare. Is it wrong of me to want someone to see me? Is it blasphemy if I say I want to leave something behind?

[AGNES HESITATES]

I’ve… made a decision, recently. I think I would like to bring happiness. It’s not… an easy thing to do. Especially not for me. Which is why this isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly. I will keep causing pain. I know I will, because I must. But I would like to make someone happy. Even if it’s only one person. Even it’s the last act I take on this Earth. I—I know I can’t let them take this away. I don’t want to live in a world without flowers, Gertrude. Or coffee, or _you,_ or the stray cats who see me as nothing but a comfortable source of warmth. I’m not you. If I save the world, it will only be from myself. But if I must martyr myself for a cause, I want it to be my own. And I will rest peacefully with the knowledge that you, at least, will know that this is my choice. 

JACK

Um, hello. Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?

AGNES

No, no. Go ahead.

JACK

I just—okay, I wanted to tell you, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And I hope it’s not weird, but I love seeing you in here, because I know if I see you, then I’ll have a good day. And—and maybe this is a bit of a long shot but I don’t think I could live with myself if I missed my chance. So, uh, here it is. Agnes, would you like to go on a date with me?

AGNES

Oh!

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

The next morning, they go to visit Melanie. It’s harder than Gerry thought it’d be for Manuela to navigate herself through the hospital, but they still manage to get to the room just fine. 

Georgie—who apparently spent the night with her, from the looks of things—assures them that it’s not as bad as it looks. Yeah, Melanie’s back was scratched like hell, and there were a few slashes across her face, too, but apparently, most of the damage is actually pretty superficial. She doesn’t look too worried—or, more accurately, she looks exactly as worried as someone dating a Magnus employee should look—so Gerry decides to trust her. 

“It’s the Leitner that really got me,” Melanie says. She waves a hand in front of her face. “Guess that’s the price of reading something about disappearances.”

“It took your eyes?” Gerry asks. Tim had mentioned something about it when he came home, of course, but Gerry had quickly gotten distracted by the sudden burst of laughter that had followed. 

“Weird, right?” Tim says. “Could have sworn it was supposed to disappear your _life,_ not your body.”

“Technically, it’s just a few veins that disappeared,” Melanie says. “I mean, I think. They made me do a few more tests after you left. But something _definitely_ severed my optic nerves.”

Gerry laughs at that.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s just—sounds like you build up a defense. First time you got marked, we had to cut it out of you. Now, your body did that for us.”

Melanie giggles.

“Always knew the Lonely just wasn’t for me,” she says.

“Good for you,” Mike says sincerely. “You didn’t need it.”

“I mean…” Melanie laughs again. “I really didn’t. I was so worried that I’d never be able to escape all this. I mean—living with Manuela—no offense—but I kind of _surrounded_ myself with fear. I didn’t want to, but it’s not like I really had that much choice about it. I wanted to quit because I wanted to make sure I’d never bring any of that shit home to Georgie, but now… I didn’t just escape the Institute. I _won._ I beat all of them. And I’m free.”

Georgie smooths down Melanie’s hair and kisses her cheek.

“You did,” she says. “My hero.”

“Melanie,” Gerry says hesitantly. “When you were fighting—you didn’t feel…”

Melanie shakes her head, careful not to move too much.

“It didn’t feel like anger,” she says. “I mean, if I have to pick an emotion I’d say—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about revenge. Just you guys. And how badly I wanted this to work. I wanted her gone because she hurt Sasha, and because she was after Jon. Not because I heard any pipers, or anything like that.”

“Good,” Gerry says. “I’m glad.”

The door behind them opens. Gerry guides Manuela away as an Indian woman with a service dog walks through.

“Indira,” Mike says. Indira turns towards him and grins.

“Mike!” she says. “Who else is here?”

“Indira,” Manuela says.

“I’m Gerry,” Gerry says. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Indira smiles and sticks out a hand. Gerry shakes it.

“I’m here, too,” Tim offers. “Hey. Tim. Bit too far away to actually shake your hand, but it’s always nice to meet a friend of Melanie’s. Even if it’s, well, _here.”_

“I like it,” Melanie says. “Makes me feel loved.”

“I love you _so much,”_ Indira says earnestly. “Please don’t get attacked by any more wild animals.”

Melanie laughs.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says. “Next scratches I get will be from the Admiral, I promise.”

“The Admiral doesn’t scratch people,” Georgie protests.

“Well, then, guess I’m not getting injured for a while,” Melanie responds. Georgie shakes her head. The gesture is filled with fondness.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Gerry says. “Room’s getting a bit crowded, now, and we’ve still got to visit Jon.”

“You should meet Jon, too,” Melanie tells Indira. “You’d like him. And he could probably use some help getting used to things.”

“Oh, is he blind?” Indira asks. Melanie gives a nervous laugh.

“It’s a recent development,” Georgie says. She pauses. “Very recent. You can ask him for the details.”

Tim raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn’t say anything. It’s fine. They’ll figure out a lie when the time comes.

“We’ll go on ahead, then,” Gerry says. He turns to Manuela. “You want to stick around?”

Manuela looks at Melanie.

“It would bring me greater peace if I had more time to confirm her safety,” she says. “I will guide Indira to the correct door once we’re finished.”

“You will?” Melanie asks.

“I will do my best,” Manuela says. She adjusts her sunglasses.

“Cool,” Gerry says. “See you again then.”

Daisy’s not in Jon’s room.

Martin is, though. Probably ended up staying over once Georgie had come by for Melanie.

Jon looks pretty happy now, honestly. Gerry’s not sure what they told the doctors. Daisy had been right. Melanie didn’t even have to say anything before they assumed she’d been attacked by a really angry racoon, but Jon’s sudden loss of vision was too precise to come from an accident.

No one’s bugging them about it, though, so Gerry decides not to make it his business.

“I slept, and I didn’t have any nightmares,” Jon tells them, somewhat giddy. “It’s been _years_ since I’ve felt so well rested.”

“That one might just be the painkillers,” Tim says. Jon giggles.

“It’s definitely a little bit the painkillers,” Martin agrees.

“I can’t believe you—I mean, _your eyes,”_ Tim says. 

“I can’t believe Martin got Jared Hopworth to leave by _asking nicely,”_ Jon says.

“It wasn’t all that,” Martin insists.

“It was,” Gerry says. “Your boyfriend is fearless. Be proud.”

Jon smiles.

“Thank you for staying with me, Tim,” Jon says. “I know it wasn’t much fun. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever felt any pain quite like it—but it had to be done. I’m just—I’m glad you were there. And I’m glad I was human enough to survive it, unlike…”

Martin takes his hand.

“I wish we could have saved him, too,” he agrees.

“You did, though,” Gerry says. “He finally had a chance to tell someone what happened to him. And after everything… that’s not nothing.”

“I know he had no life to go back to,” Jon says. “But… it would have been nice if he had the chance to rebuild it. I’m glad we’re all safe, but—”

“But we weren’t Jonah’s only victims,” Tim agrees. He sighs. “Yeah, I get it.”

“I hope they find his body,” Jon says. “It was—we really did just _leave_ him—and I know there’s no one left who wants to bury him, but—”

“Elias had powerful friends,” Mike says. Jon startles at his voice. “Or, allies, at least. One of them will notice.”

“Would you ask—that is, if it’s alright, could I—”

“Yes,” Mike says. “I’ll let you know if Simon’s invited to your evil boss’s funeral.”

That seems to make Jon happy. He hesitates.

“But… we haven’t really stopped anything, have we?” he asks. “I mean, I wish I could say I was the last Archivist, but—”

“That’s the thing about the world,” Gerry agrees. “Always in danger. I mean, even the stuff Gertrude stopped—the rituals might’ve not been real harbingers of doom or whatever, but they could still _hurt._ I mean—well, you know what I mean. But when I was working with Gertrude, I wasn’t thinking ‘damn, someone else is going to have to stop this exact same thing about a hundred years later.’ If we stopped it, it still meant that right now, people are safe. That’s all you can ask for, really.”

Jon’s posture losens.

“I suppose,” he says.

“You know those fantasy stories about some ‘great, ancient evil?’” Gerry asks. “Lots of times, either the characters have to seal them up, or it _was_ sealed up before they got to it. Bet you none of the people the hero saved complained just because the guy might come back later. No, they thank you, because you’ve just saved them from a lifetime of misery. A hundred years is a long time to be free from evil, after all. Even if it’s not forever.”

“He’s right,” Tim says. “I mean, _wow,_ we literally did just defeat centuries old wizard.”

“I don’t know if two hundred years counts as _centuries old,”_ Jon protests.

“Pretty sure that’s the exact definition,” Tim says. “Point is, _holy shit._ We saved the _world._ I think we deserve another party.”

“A hero's welcome,” Gerry agrees.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Mike tells them. Gerry laughs, then rubs a hand to the back of his neck. He can feel one of his tattoos burning. Never a good sign.

“Give me a second,” Gerry tells them. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just leaves the room. As soon as he shuts the door behind him, another besides him opens up. Yeah. Thought as much.

“Michael Shelley was never officially fired from the Institute,” Helen says. There’s a chair next to her that wasn’t there earlier. A part of him hates her for being so considerate, but he sits down anyway. 

“So you’re Michael, now?” Gerry asks.

“I’m the same creature I was yesterday,” Helen says. 

Gerry doesn’t bother asking again. 

“You were tied to the Archives,” he says instead.

“Emotionally, I will always be,” Helen frowns. “I have Michael to thank for that. And Helen, of course, for giving her statement. But we all have our threads. With Jonah Magnus gone, I think I will finally be free to become completely incomprehensible.”

“How long did you know about that one?” Gerry asks.

“I’m not sure,” Helen says. “Forever, perhaps. Before Jonah and his cursed Architect even first began building their prison. I know a great many things, after all. Maybe even more than you. But I won’t share them. Are you angry with me?”

“No shit,” Gerry says. It sounds more like a bite than he expected. “I don’t care if you keep things from me, but I never wanted Tim to have a title. Why do you think I didn’t pick one out for myself? I’m not crossing that line. And I chose that for myself. But you didn’t give him that chance.”

“I thought you would find it lonely,” Helen says. “He’ll never understand you as he is.”

“I don’t need him to _understand,”_ Gerry scoffs. “Not about that. There’s more to me than my eyes and he knows that. He _loves_ me. I didn’t need anything else. You fucked him up, Helen. What would you have done if he started getting hungry? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt someone. Whatever happened after would have been your fault. What if you convinced him to go looking for Jon? No way he’s powerful enough to get back from that.”

Helen pauses. She hasn’t been looking at him for most of the conversation, but now, it’s more pointed.

“I would have done nothing,” she says. “Either he would have been lost forever, or he would have made the choice to come back, whatever the cost. Basira would have killed Elias, or he would have convinced her into getting a raise. You would have had no reason to destroy the building without Tim. You still might have, of course, but if Basira changed alliances, Daisy would hesitate, and none of you were in any state to stand up to her. Except Manuela, I suppose, but…”

“But what’s one mark for an Archivist?” Gerry finishes. “Christ.”

“Manuela does not need to be the one to mark her,” Helen says. “Or whatever other replacement Elias might choose.”

Gerry feels his blood run cold.

“Because you took her sun,” he says. “Just like you took Melanie’s knife, right? Jon never did encounter any other Slaughter avatars.”

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, but at least Helen has the decency not to lie and tell him it is not what it most definitely is.

“You took the Coffin, too,” Gerry says. It’s just a guess, but from the way Helen’s face shifts, Gerry’s sure he’s right.

“Creatures like me will always want the world to end,” Helen tells him. Another nonanswer. Gerry shakes his head.

“I don’t think there’s anyone out there like you, Helen,” he says. She smiles at him. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Or, it does, but not in the way that matters.

“I know,” she says. “Can you understand why I didn’t want the same for you?”

“Stop,” Gerry begs. “I don’t want to hear it. I—it’s your nature, I know. And it’s lonely, yeah, I know it is, but I can’t be friends with someone who tries to hurt my boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t in any pain,” Helen insists.

“You know he was.” Gerry’s done having this conversation. “Did you plan it by yourself, or did Annabelle help you? Should have known she’d want something big like that. Probably has a plan to end the world without Magnus already written out.”

“A person can have more than one plan,” Helen tells him. “I _am_ glad you survived this. You and Jon both deserved better than being tied to that horrible place. You all do. And I’m in no rush for the apocalypse, not really.”

Gerry shakes his head.

“But you will end it,” he says. “You’ve always loved feeding the Spiral. Might as well give it a bigger meal.”

Helen smiles at him. It feels like a repeating record.

“Is that what I’m doing?” she asks. Gerry waits for a moment, but that’s it. No excuses. Michael would have tried to make him understand. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised she’s smarter than that.

“Good bye, Helen,” Gerry says. He opens up the door again. Tim’s looking at Jon. They’re both laughing.

One thing that hadn’t been ruined, at least.

Melanie’s tests come back and confuse every doctor who looks at them. Whatever scratched her face definitely didn’t get close enough to cut into her eyes, and yet, here she was, a relatively healthy woman suddenly losing her ability to see.

She says she’s not too upset about it. She kind of figured something like this would happen, after all. That’s why she’d been learning braille. Well—she’d been _training_ to learn braille. Apparently, you’ve got to do all sorts of pre-training to make sure your fingers were sensitive enough to actually distinguish between the bumps. One of the things she’d learned from Indira. She’d been getting accessibility tips from her pretty much since the two of them had met. After Melanie had healed from the bullet, she’d started looking towards the future, and the future meant preparing for a situation where she might spend the rest of her life without her sight. Obviously, she hadn’t told Indira _why_ she was worried about going blind, but Indira had heard of her, vaguely, and the fact that they lived so close to each other gave them an excuse to meet in person and find out who the other was outside of their channel. It had only taken them a few days to declare each other best friends.

Unfortunately, though, suddenly going blind was generally something that worried healthcare professionals, so it takes her twice as long as it should to get discharged. Eventually, she’s declared a medical mystery and a few days later, Elias's body gets dug up. He is, for sure, without a doubt, dead as hell. The funeral’s in two weeks. 

In the time before that, Gerry and Mike move into Tim’s. It’s an easy enough decision to make, honestly. Gerry’s only got a one bedroom flat, so if Mike really wanted to stay roommates, they’d have to move anyway. Luckily, Tim’s got a spare room. He doesn’t mind sharing a flat with Mike. Or, okay, he tells Gerry that since he’s bringing Absynthe, he might as well bring Mike too, but Gerry’s pretty sure it’s mostly a joke. 

Gerry’s pretty sure Mike’ll start traveling again in a few months, anyway which means it might end up feeling like just Tim and Gerry’s flat. He likes to wander, but that’s fine. Just as long as he knows he’s got some place to return to.

And then there’s the Lodestar.

Still got to deal with that.

Tim doesn’t want to be any kind of celestial being. Too distant. He doesn’t mind what it implies, not really, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that if he hadn’t been a guide, he’d have been a shooting star. _He_ had been the one to stop the Unknowing, in a moment of sudden clarity. He was so sure it would have been the end of him. That at the very least, there’d be no more burning passion in his chest, but—

Tim could compel people. It wasn’t the same compulsion as an Archivist. Part of the reason Gerry hadn’t noticed. It was more… friendly. People told the truth to Tim because they thought he was their friend. Only, sometimes, after the fact, they’d realize how much they’d overshared to a complete stranger and recoil at the thought.

This, Gerry thought, was way worse. Tim agrees. The thought of doing it again makes him feel sick.

But if he has to be something, he’s glad it’s this.

“I dunno,” Tim says. His head is in Gerry’s lap. Gerry brushes a hair out of his face. “I guess what I’m saying is that the thing I wanted most out of everything was to be out of the Institute. And Lodestar—well, it’s not very academic, is it?”

“Not really, no,” Gerry agrees.

“Jon was the Archivist because Jonah wanted him to be,” Tim continues. “And, yeah, I guess it fit pretty well, but it’s like he was pushed into some mold. Archivist needs to ask questions, so Jonah engineers a few wild goose chases for him to go on to turn him into the nosiest version of himself. But the Institute wasn’t why I survived. _You_ were.”

Tim hesitates for a moment.

“I mean… I knew I had to come back,” he says finally. “The Unknowing made me feel like the Circus was the only thing in the whole world, but I knew it wasn’t, because _you_ weren’t there. So… I left.”

Gerry takes his hand and laces their fingers together. The scars on one of Tim’s arms still make up a constellation. The original wounds have been peeled back. Pinched into the shape of a star. It looks painful. 

“Kind of sounds like you’re calling me your patron,” Gerry says. Tim laughs.

“That’s me,” he agrees. “Avatar of the I Fucking Love My Partner.”

Tim kisses Gerry’s hand. Gerry kisses him back.

“I guess I’m just saying, I don’t always hate the Eye,” Tim says. “Not when it’s you. And I think that’s why this _could_ happen to me. I’m not a _watcher._ But neither are you.”

Gerry makes a noise. He’s pretty sure what he does is undeniably _watching,_ but he sees Tim’s point.

“So… I’m fine with whatever this is,” Tim continues. “For now, at least. I don’t want to keep getting stronger, but all I’ve done so far is save people. That doesn’t really inspire much fear. I mean—I hope it doesn’t. Few people you saved seemed pretty freaked out you got involved.”

“They don’t know why they’re suffering,” Gerry says. “But I do. If they don’t understand what I’m saying, then I’m just another freak ruining their night.”

“You’re not,” Tim insists. Gerry shakes his head.

“There’s never enough time to explain it all,” he says. “But better scared and alive than terrified to death.”

Tim frowns.

“Sometimes, being near someone while they’re scared is enough to add to the fear,” Gerry says. “Not just with the fears. Someone stuck in a fire probably isn’t going to be thinking clearly enough to appreciate being rescued. All they’re going to remember is choking on smoke and being moved around by someone they can’t really see. I like helping people, but walking up to a victim means going into fear. I don’t know if it’s enough to claim I’m feeding on it, but…”

Gerry shakes his head.

“It’s like I’ve said,” he says. “Hard to draw the line between human and not.”

“I think we’re both getting a little close to _not,”_ Tim says. “So, we can’t do anything? Not even if it’s something good?”

“How do you know what’s good?” Gerry asks. Tim presses his lips together. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” he admits. “It’d be too convenient if there was some way to avoid things getting worse and it was all just everything I was planning on doing anyway.”

“Really the only thing I can suggest is trying to stay as close to out of it as you can,” Gerry says. “It’s not like no one’s ever resisted it. It’s just that all there is to it is literally _resisting_ it. Some people just aren’t meant for that. Hard to deny something that’s always going to be a part of you, I guess.”

“But you are,” Tim says. Gerry shrugs. “I mean, you’ve been at this for ages now, and you don’t even have a title. That means something, doesn’t it?”

“I…” Gerry hesitates. “Kind of? I mean, you know what I think about titles. But the person I am without my humanity— that’s just _me._ The person my mum raised me to be. Gerard Keay isn’t exactly a title, but I did a lot of terrible things under that name. A lot of them were for her, but—sorry. It’s kind of a complicated answer.”

Gerry gives a weak laugh.

“I didn’t really feel like a person when I was living with her, either, so,” he says. “Yeah. I guess I don’t really want to feel that again. I’d much rather be just someone with a few weird skills than—well, than a _Keay.”_

Not a person, but a continuation of a legacy. A thing for someone else to keep. To use.

“You’re right,” Tim agrees. “Doesn’t fit you, anyway. Too small. You’re better than that. An entire solar system, at least.”

The humor in his voice sounds like an apology. He rests his hand on top of Gerry’s. Gerry squeezes it and snorts.

“A solar system,” he says. “Alright. You’ve got any other cheesy star sayings you’ve been sitting on?”

“Oh, so many,” Tim says. He sits up and kisses Gerry. “What do you want to hear first? That I’m a star, but you’re the light of my life? The sun to my moon?”

“Terrible,” Gerry says. He kisses Tim back. “Keep going.”

Gerry ends up going to the funeral with Tim and the others. He’s not sure why. Closure, maybe? It’s an odd affair. He’s not sure if he should be surprised that Peter Lukas isn’t there for it.

He thinks Annabelle might have actually planned this in advance, though, which is kind of funny. Eye might’ve not seen it coming, but the Web definitely did. 

He goes to Martin’s mum’s funeral, too. It happens just a bit after. Gerry’s kind of unsure what happened to his mum’s body, after everything—he definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to plan a funeral, but it’s not like there’s that many others who would—but either way, Gerry gets that Martin’s feeling a lot of different things, and Gerry wants to be here for him through it.

“Are we allowed to insult her?” Gerry asks Martin, nudging him gently.

“No,” Martin replies. “I don’t want to laugh at a funeral.”

Melanie snorts quietly.

“You paid for this,” she reminds him. “You deserve to be as bratty as you want, in my opinion.”

Martin sighs.

“Funerals cost too much,” he says after a pause. “I don’t know. I should have scheduled this later in the day. I think I’d feel better if Manuela was here.”

“She can be surprisingly motherly,” Melanie agrees. “Probably because she’s so much older than us, I guess. When you’re sixty, someone in their thirties probably looks like a kid.”

Martin swivels his head to face her.

“She’s _how_ old?” he yelps. Someone nearby glares at them. “Sorry! Sorry, I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jon says gently. “I—Martin, I know, this is probably a difficult time for you, but whatever you’re feeling now—even if it’s just shock at that frankly startling piece of information—it’s all valid. You shouldn’t have to suffer today out of obligation.”

“That’s sweet, Jon,” Martin says. “It’s kind of nice to know that someone my mum’s age cares about me even if it’s not, you know, her.”

“Oh, you do not want to go down that road, believe me,” Gerry tells him.

“Dunno,” Tim says. “Think it’s a pretty good idea, personally. Replace one evil Latin woman with a cooler one.”

Martin shakes his head.

“For a really long time, I thought she cared,” he says suddenly. “That maybe I just didn’t see it because I wasn’t looking at things the right way, or that I was being too sensitive and she hadn’t actually been as bad as I remembered, but—but then I realized that I always forgot the worst of it. I knew that the memory Elias gave me was real as soon as I felt it. Not because he showed me, but because it made everything else so _clear._ Every time when I thought I could feel her eyes on me… everything that she said that _maybe_ could have been an insult but maybe was just a cranky old woman being a little rude because of the pain… All of that was real. I tried not to think about it because, I mean, what was I going to do? She needed me. I thought that’d be enough. It really might’ve been, honestly. If Elias never saw me burning those statements, I would have still been waiting for her to show even the smallest sign of love, but… well, she didn’t love me. And now I know she never will.”

There’s a pause. Jon reaches for Martin, who gladly gives him an arm, and Jon squeezes it with a gentle reassurance.

“Sorry,” Martin says. He gives an awkward laugh. “Didn’t mean to dump all that on you guys. Guess I’ve just, uh, been thinking about it lately.”

He lets out a breath, then turns to Gerry.

“Actually, I, uh, have some books for you?” Martin says. “I mean, Institute books. That I took.”

“You stole books?” Gerry asks. “For _me?”_

“It’s not like _that,”_ Martin protests. “It’s just, I used to work in the library, and it made me sad to think about how all of that would go up in flames when we set off the explosives, and even if they _survived,_ they’d probably just get tossed in a bin somewhere, so—yeah! I brought them home with me. I dunno. I figured you’d probably find them more useful than I would.”

“Probably,” Gerry admits. “Kind of touched you thought of me. How many books did you take?”

“If someone was looking into the collapse of the Magnus Institute, we’d be the first suspects,” Jon says dryly. He doesn’t seem too worried. Then again, there wasn’t much of a reason to be. The Institute had been forgotten about fairly quickly. The destruction had been shocking, of course, but it had been an old building. As soon as someone suggested it might have been faulty wiring or something of the sort, most saw it as a mystery solved. And with Elias gone, it didn’t seem like too much of a surprise that Institute donors wouldn’t want to deal with putting the pieces back together. So the land was sold, and everyone had gone back to thinking about more important things, like the fact that Melanie King, internet meme, was now planning on relaunching her channel.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t, are they?” Martin replies. “So, you know. No harm done.”

When they get home, Gerry helps Mike put together his wheelchair.

He’s a lot happier about having one now that it’s his. Can’t really decorate a rental, and a mobility aid gets a lot more freeing when it doesn’t kill your arms to use it. Gerry says he’ll paint something on the back that gives everyone vertigo to look at. Mike says he can’t wait.

“Sounds like whatever you talked about with Indira really helped,” Gerry says.

“It wasn’t really just that,” Mike says. He pauses for a moment. “I should have listened to Kira. They told me to remember I had choices. Using someone else’s chair wasn’t really a choice, and that made me feel like nothing about it could be. But sitting around using something I didn’t like isn’t much of a choice either, just… stewing in misery.”

Mike shrugs.

“Maybe it’s funny,” he says. “Before, all I could think about was choices. What to give myself to, how to get there, and—well. You know what I was like. It’s easier to feel like you’ve lost a mark when there’s another still haunting you.”

“Plague scars bothering you?” Gerry asks. Mike makes a face.

“Don’t call them that,” he says. “The Boneturner definitely hurts more, though. I didn’t notice right away, because everything’s been hurting more, but I’ve felt that, especially. It feels a bit like being punished.”

“I get it,” Gerry says. One of the most important things about dealing with the Buried was to not let your choices weigh you down. It wasn’t something Gerry had ever been particularly good at. Easy to second guess yourself when you’re dealing with so much you can’t control. Mike had known that, even before the Buried, but desperation had made him barrel through despite it all. The world looks different once you’ve killed the thing that haunts you.

World looks different when someone new takes their place, too.

“I’m glad you do,” Mike says. “I don’t like explaining myself.”

“What’s there to explain?” Gerry shrugs. “This isn’t an easy thing to heal from. If you even can. Things get a lot scarier when you realize they’re forever, but just because it's forever doesn’t mean things’ll always feel as bad as they do in the moment.”

Gerry leans back.

“Scared the hell out of myself the first time I dislocated something,” he says. “It was my wrist. I wasn’t even fighting anything, I just… fell. Hit my hand a bit too hard on the way down and even before it gave out I knew something was wrong. If it had been something else, maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrifying. Even people without Elhers have things pop out of place, you know? Generally only if they’re really using that joint, but it still happens. Point is, there was nothing I could blame that on but my own body. And that meant it would happen again. And it did. Second time it happened was when I was trying to punch something, and it was just as terrifying as the first time.”

“Didn’t you dislocate your wrist last week?” Mike asks. Gerry nods. He rubs the tattoo on his wrist idly. It hadn’t been a big deal. He probably wouldn’t have even mentioned it if Mike hadn’t been with him at the time, which just went to prove his point. It’s not an easy thing to convince someone of, but sometimes, things did get easier.

“I know my body now,” Gerry says. “And I know how to set the bone. It’s not really about the time that passes, I guess. More about taking care of yourself.”

Mike snorts.

“I didn’t think you’d ever be the one to give me a lesson on self-care,” he says. “But you’re right. I won’t be happy unless I’m free. And I will be.”

“Just have to wait for the battery to finish charging,” Gerry agrees.

According to Melanie, Daisy and Basira dismantle Breekon’s van together and destroy most of the artefacts inside. The things that couldn’t be dealt with were either hidden or given away.

To Manuela, she means. Helen had offered to take a few as well, but Basira hadn’t let her.

Probably for the best.

They’re talking about taking apart their ritual, too. Agnes and Gertrude had never tried, but that had been mainly because the Lightless Flame had no idea where to start and Gertrude had no reason to show them. The longer they were tied together, the longer the Earth was safe from the Desolation’s ritual. But this was far from the same situation. There was no reason to think that Daisy would lose control, or feel the full force of the Buried, if they tore up the spiderwebs that bond them. They might still be Seeker and Stone, but they wouldn’t be Seeker & Stone _together,_ and that might make all the difference. It’s easy to justify someone, after all, when you see the world through their eyes. 

Hard part is, though, is that ending their connection wouldn’t change how terrible they’d been together. Not being monsters together didn’t mean they’d stop being monsters together.

But Daisy put out a tip about all the bodies she buried. If there’s someone out there, still waiting for one of those poor souls to come home, well—now they know. So that’s a start.

Gerry doesn’t pay too much attention to it. He’s got bigger things to worry about than Basira. And by that, he means Caroline texted him.

She doesn’t mention showing up to the Archives, or anything like that. Just tells him that he’s got to come over to teach Callum how to draw. Gerry can’t stop himself from asking if she’s _sure,_ like, really, sure, and there’s an obvious pause before Caroline texts him again. When she does, she talks about the People’s Church. Tells him that she’ll hate them with her entire heart for the rest of her life, but if she’d ever met a kid unlucky enough to be born into a place like that, she’d understand.

Well.

She’s less wrong than she could be, at least.

When Gerry gets to her house, Callum’s trying to draw a creature wearing Manuela’s coat. When he sees Gerry, his eyes brighten.

“Do you know how to draw wings?” he asks.

“Not when they’re not attached to birds,” Gerry replies. Callum scoffs.

“Some artist you are,” he says.

“Callum!” Caroline says, but Gerry just laughs.

“It’s cool,” he says, pulling up a chair near Callum. “We can learn together.”

That, Callum seems to like. He pushes a blank piece of paper near Gerry.

“I’ll teach you,” he says.

“I appreciate it,” Gerry says. There’s a small smile on Callum’s face.

It’s weird to think that his approval means anything to anyone, especially a kid. Gerry’s not sure if he really knows how to talk to kids, but when Gerry glances back towards Caroline, she gives him an encouraging smile.

“I heard about the Institute,” Caroline says. “I’m sorry. It’s lucky no one was hurt, aside from, well…”

Gerry blinks.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. It wasn’t a great place to work. Let’s just say that even haunted buildings have HR complaints.”

Caroline snorts at that. Gerry doesn’t bother telling her it’s better the place is gone. To her, the Institute’s just the place that called in a tip about her kid, and offered up some therapy. She didn’t know how much quicker they could have been about it.

“Guess it is kind of weird to see it gone, though,” Gerry admits. “My dad actually worked in the Archives when I was really young. Pretty sure my mum’s the only one on her side of the family that never ended up working there. So guess that’s it for my family’s legacy.”

From the look on Caroline’s face, he’s not doing a good job of keeping his joy hidden.

“I can’t imagine working at the same place as my father,” Caroline admits. “I could hardly stand to be in the same house as him.”

“I don’t really remember enough of him to feel like that,” Gerry says. “But, honestly, I really only started coming by because my boyfriend worked there.”

Caroline laughs.

“Martin told me you were an expert,” she says.

“I am,” Gerry says. No point in being modest. “Just didn’t think they deserved my expertise.”

“And then you met your boyfriend,” Caroline says.

“And then I met my boyfriend,” Gerry agrees.

There’s no sign of Helen. The more time passes, the harder that is to ignore.

Gerry’s not sure if she’s avoiding him or not. Or, if she is avoiding him, if it’s because he’s mad, or because he’s mad at _her._ Either way, he doesn’t call her, and she doesn’t come.

It’s fine.

It’s not like he didn’t expect it. And he’s got enough of a life to keep him from spending all his time worrying about it.

After the funeral, Martin gets a bit more serious about his job search. Manuela hears that Martin’s interested in science and bullies him into looking into universities. He’s still looking for a job, they all are, but Manuela insists that that’s no reason he can’t also follow his dreams. If money’s the only thing stopping him, she’ll find a way to sell the Daedalus and pay for it. Jon agrees. He doesn’t want Martin to put his dreams to the side just because he thinks he needs to take care of Jon. Yes, he’s blind. Yes, he’s still learning how to use a white cane—he already knows how to use a regular one, though so how hard could it be? _Yes,_ he doesn’t know braille either. But they’ll figure it out. He’s sure of that.

It’s all very sweet, honestly.

Tim doesn’t really have a specific career in mind, so he decides to focus more on learning BSL with Gerry and Mike. Gerry has fun comparing it to the ASL he knows. Why does American Sign only use one hand while BSL uses two? Gerry has _things_ to do. He needs that free hand.

It turns out, though, that Tim doesn’t have to worry about a job because Melanie wants him and Gerry has her co-hosts for the new show she’s been thinking of.

“You sure you want to think about ghosts still?” Tim asks her. “I mean, no offense, but after everything… aren’t you tired of the supernatural?"

Melanie laughs.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret about ghost shows, Tim,” she says. “It doesn’t actually matter whether or not something’s real. All that matters is everyone watching has fun.”

“Theatre kid” Tim says. Melanie flips off his general direction.

“Thought it might be kind of cathartic,” she admits. “And I mean, the three of us know a _lot_ about ghosts at this point. Plus, Tim, you were in publishing, yeah? You’ve got to have _some_ idea what makes a good story.”

Tim snorts.

“You want it to be harmless,” Gerry says.

“After everything, don’t we deserve to meet a friendly ghost?” Melanie replies. “I mean, maybe we will find something real. I can’t promise we won’t. But we don’t have to film that. Not that it’ll show up. All I’m saying is—let them think something’s out there. But let them think it’s something _good.”_

Tim hums.

“I think I could get behind something like that,” he says. 

Gerry doesn’t bother asking if she’s already asked Jon. The answer was obvious. His attempts to learn more about the fears had almost ended the world. Of course he’s not going to want to join them. And, anyway, Gerry’s pretty sure Jon’s decided he’s done with the supernatural in general. He thinks Jon said something about looking for an excuse to talk about dinosaurs? Gerry has faith he’ll find it.

“Be nice to get something other than trauma out of all those close encounters I’ve had,” Gerry agrees. “Good excuse to check out the real stuff, too.”

“And you’re asking if _I’m_ tired of ghosts,” Melanie snorts.

“Well, hey,” Gerry protests. “If we’re there, might as well try and help. And I mean—I can’t give this up. I’m not sure it’d even let me, at this point.”

“I know,” Tim says. “It’d be nice to actually use what we learned for good. Maybe the ghosts are fake, but the advice doesn’t have to be, you know?

“I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Melanie admits. “I mean, yeah let’s definitely do that, but honestly, I just wanted to make some videos on accessibility in horror. Maybe have Indira on as a guest or something. She’s a big fan of ghost stories. Doesn’t care much for horror, though. Says it never scares her like it should.”

“What does she think happened, anyway?” Gerry asks. “I mean, with your sight.”

“Pretty sure she still thinks it was an accident,” Melanie says. 

“So you just let her assume you came to her with some kind of prophetic vision of the future?” Gerry laughs. 

“That’s _not_ what happened,” Melanie insists. Tim laughs. “Oh, christ, that’s exactly what happened. You’re right.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Tim says gleefully. “They can take the eyes out of the girl…”

Melanie puts her head in her hands, but she’s shaking with laughter.

“That’s _terrible,”_ she informs them. She’s still laughing. “I’m firing the both of you.”

“Love you too, King,” Gerry says. Tim very loudly blows her a kiss.

And then November comes, and Gerry’s greeted by the sight of Basira appearing before him on a busy sidewalk on his way to visit Portia.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” she says. “I just want some advice.”

“How’d you know where to find me?” Gerry asks her. Basira shrugs.

“Wasn’t looking,” she admits. “Just thought it’d be a nice day to go for a walk. Lucky I ran into you.”

“Not really,” Gerry says. He looks around. “Come on. Let’s find a place to sit.”

“Oh,” Basira says. “So you’ll really—”

“Don’t think too much about it,” Gerry says. “Maybe I just like answering questions.”

Basira snorts, but walks with Gerry as they find a bench.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Annabelle’s statement, lately,” she says. “Not the one she gave to me. The others.”

“Yeah?” Gerry says.

“They feel like warnings,” Basira tells him. She looks nervous. “I think—I’m supposed to leave now. Because we aren’t friends, and you’ll never be able to look at me without thinking about everything I’ve done, but if I go… I won’t come back. Ever.”

Gerry opens his mouth to speak, but Basira cuts him off.

“That’s not me trying to be manipulative and making you feel sorry for me,” she insists. “I want you all to be happy, but—no one Martin talked to had Annabelle’s number. Even though some of them had known her for years. And he said everyone just kind of ended up changing the conversation. They just… couldn’t think about her. That programmer couldn’t even remember her name—or, well, his friend couldn’t.” 

“I remember that statement,” Gerry says slowly. “Every time Annabelle granted someone’s wish, they always ended up turning into spiders.”

“And the person they wanted dead would be buried.” There’s an obvious pause. “In spider webs.”

“Shit,” Gerry says.

Well, they’d been right about that, then. Annabelle had wanted Basira. She had told her story to the recorder, mentioned every trauma she’d felt in the past few years and then, Jonah Magnus had died. By his own hands, no less.

And the price, of course, was a transformation. Another spider.

It’s not what she deserves. And it’s definitely not what she wants, though he doubts she’s as surprised as this turn of events as he is. Now that she says it, though, he knows he should have seen the signs. The line between victim and avatar was hard to draw, and the Web always took people desperate for control.

“And here I thought the Institute had just rubbed off on you,” Gerry says. “You kind of reminded me of Gertrude, actually.”

“Because you were scared of me,” Basira says. Gerry flinches. “Easier to write me off as a known problem then look any closer.”

“I didn’t want to think about you,” Gerry admits. “Especially not in terms of what you could do.”

Basira nods. She doesn’t seem too upset by this.

“At least she warned me, I guess,” she says. “Even if we didn’t see it. Probably more of a choice than Annabelle had gotten. I have time to say my goodbyes. Already went to visit my parents. I told them I loved them. And Daisy and I, we listened to another episode of _The Archers_ together. Maybe I should be thankful I had that.”

“You don’t have to be,” Gerry says. “And you don’t have to go.”

“The only one who wants me here is Melanie,” Basira tells him. “But she thinks she can save me, and… I don’t know. Can’t stop a sinking ship, I guess. I was always going to end up like this. I cared too much about knowledge and power to stop even for a _moment_ and remember to be human. But then I saw Jon in the Lonely, and—and all I could think about was how fucked up it was he was depending on _me_ to save him.”

“If you don’t break yourself up, you could do it again,” Gerry says. “Buried’s always going to have victims. Jon doesn’t have to be the only one you rescue.”

“You think that’d work?” Basira asks. “I mean, if we found the Coffin we could just… take them all out?”

“Wouldn’t be easy,” Gerry says. “Don’t know if it’d be _safe,_ either. It’s still some kind of chase.”

“Yeah.” Basira slumps her shoulders. “Don’t know if Daisy trusts herself to finish a hunt without, well…”

“It’d take a long time, too,” Gerry says. “Definitely at least a few decade’s worth of people in there. Not sure how much room you’d have for a life in the meantime. I—no matter what I think of you, I don’t think you deserve to spend the rest of your life on some suicide mission out of some weird desire to punish yourself. But there’s other ways to save people.”

“What if I can’t get better?” Basira asks. “What if all I was ever going to do on my own is keep repeating my mistakes? Maybe it’s stupid and repetitive, but what if that’s always going to be the best thing I can do?”

“Then it’ll be there next year,” Gerry says. “And the year after. It’s way too early for you to give up on the rest of your life. I mean, I didn’t think I’d live past thirty, either, but I was wrong.”

“You had brain cancer,” Basira reminds him.

“Yeah,” Gerry says. “And then I didn’t.”

There are ripples in Basira’s eyes as she watches him. It reminds Gerry of skipping stones. A spider’s web was a thing of beauty, but it was still made to bring in food. The stones, though, had only ever been about the joy of making changes in an otherwise calm body of water. About proving to the people around you that you could make something magic out of something as ordinary as a day at the beach.

He doesn’t know how to explain this to her. That this realization she had been thrown didn’t mean the destination was as set in stone as she was. Maybe she wouldn’t think that she had any choices left, but Gerry didn’t think that even Annabelle had all of her decisions made by the Mother of Puppets.

“Sometimes words only mean what you let them,” Gerry says finally. “A stone can be carved into anything. You don’t have to let Annabelle be the only one shaving off your edges.”

Basira snorts and shakes her head.

“I don’t think I mind the Web, honestly,” Basira admits. “I always wanted to change things, you know? But I don’t want to forget how much it sucked to be on the other side of someone with a plan. And I don’t—”

Basira looks down.

“I don’t want to be lonely,” she admits. 

She stands up before Gerry can respond.

“Thanks for listening,” she says. “Guess I didn’t really have a question, after all. Maybe I just wanted to give a statement.”

“I’m not an Archivist,” Gerry says. Basira shrugs.

“Closest I’ve got,” she says. “Anyway, Daisy has a cottage in Scotland. I’m going to go there. She says it’s easier for her to think when she’s not in a city, so—I dunno. Maybe it’ll help. Be nice to take a break, at least. And we need to get away from each other, I know. We’ve already put it off too long.”

“She’s not coming with you?” Gerry asks.

“She’ll come two weeks after,” Basira says. “By that point, I’ll be gone. Don’t know where, yet, but I’m sure she’ll pick up the trail. I mean, fighting Hopworth’s guys helped, but she needs a chase. And I did tell her I’d find her something to eat.”

“So you’re playing Hide-And-Seek?” Gerry laughs. “Not a bad choice, I guess. Little on the nose.”

Basira shrugs.

“We won’t hurt anyone, will we?” she asks. Gerry considers this.

The problem with the Hunt was that chasing a specific person didn’t mean you wouldn’t tear someone down along the way. And it might not work, if Basira wasn’t afraid—but of course, just because she wasn’t scared of _Daisy_ didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of being caught—but if it did, it could be as close as she could get to an ethically sourced meal. 

“Not as long as you both pay attention to your surroundings,” he tells her. “Not everyone she hurt was being Hunted. Don’t let her make you the only thing that matters. But—what’s your goal here? You could probably do this forever, if you want to. The Web could help you hide, but I’m not sure how much you want to live the rest of your life on the road.”

“I guess I’m just hoping one of us finds some place they don’t want to leave,” Basira admits. “Sorry about showing up like this. It’s not right, I know. I’ll—”  
They look at each other, suddenly awkward.

“Guess this is goodbye,” Gerry says.

“Guess so,” Basira agrees. “Feels weird to tell someone to have a nice life, but, well—”

“Yeah,” Gerry says. “Take care of yourself. I hope you find the place you’re looking for.”

Basira shoots him one last smile, then starts to leave. Once her back is turned, Gerry pulls out his phone and looks for her number. For a moment, he’s worried it’s gone, until he realizes that the messages are still there, it’s just the contact that’s been deleted. It wasn’t his doing. Or—he doesn’t remember it, at least. He can’t claim Web involvement yet, not till the entire thread disappears. 

Gerry writes down the number on a piece of paper.

Either way, he’s not about to let her isolate herself like that. Melanie would miss her too much.

Gerry reaches out to the author of _Maretta_ after he finishes the art for it. If he’s being honest, a part of him just wants to hear what she thinks. It’s a relief to hear how much she loves it. And it’s easy to keep the conversation going once the praise has stopped. She doesn’t know anything about the life Gerry’s led, but in a way, Gerry thinks she still gets it.

Her name is Sabina Turco. And as a kid, she tried to climb out of her window, once, in an attempt to launch onto a nearby tree branch.

She hadn’t realized how hard it would be to make the jump. The fall didn’t hurt her, but it did knock the wind out of her. For one long, terrible moment, all she could do was lay on the ground and look at the stars. Somehow, she had felt as though she had just missed them. That if she hadn’t lost her balance, she’d have gotten close enough to pluck the moon right out of the sky.

Then the next day, her mum was driven to the hospital. So she looked back up at the stars and thought, _take me with you._

The easiest way to deal with loss is to not. She didn’t want to worry about her mum’s health, or the way her dad was holding back tears. Stars could still die, but it took centuries for it to come back to use. The pain was different.

No need to get into the details. She was a child, and it was scary. Sometimes, she dreamed of walking with the stars and woke up feeling faded. As though she had left the part of herself still scared of her mother’s fate back up in the sky.

And then one day, her grandmother stopped by with an aunt and more than a few cousins and they came bearing gifts. They had brought Sabina and her parents a week's worth of food. It gets easier not to feel alone when someone’s sharing their love. And just like that, the dreams stopped.

It might be something from his world. Might just be a way of coping with the fear of uncertainty. Kids get hung up on the strangest things, sometimes.

Sabina tells him this because she thinks he’ll understand. And she says that the stars he drew would never hurt Maretta in the way her stars had tried to hurt her.

It’s a strange compliment to be given. Gerry had never seen himself capable of drawing something that came across as _kind,_ but she insists that it’s something he’s done well.

It makes her happy, Sabina says. Though, of course, maybe now that’s just because it’s something drawn by a friend. And a fan.

It’s her first book. She’s a little nervous, you know?

Gerry doesn’t think she’s got much of a reason to be so worried, especially when she’s already gotten compliments from so many early reviewers, but he knows that logic rarely listens when it comes to fears, so when she asks him to come to her book launch, he does.

The bookstore they’re at has cut-outs of stars taped to nearby shelves. Gerry helps Sabina calm down by trying to turn them into constellations.

“Thanks,” Sabina says. “I think I needed that. I guess I’m just…”

She shrugs helplessly.

“I get it,” Gerry says. “It’s your big day. Before we start though—mind signing a copy for me? There’s a kid I look after sometimes. Think he’d appreciate it.”

Sabina looks surprised for a minute, then pulls out a pen.

“Yeah,” she says. “Of course. What’s his name?”

“Callum,” Gerry says. So she dips her pen to the first page and writes, _“Find your wishing star, Callum!”_ then signs her name underneath.

“What kind of things does he like?”

“Monsters, basically,” Gerry says. “Dunno. Ninja turtles? Killer Croc?”

“Ah, of course,” Sabina snorts. “A reptile kid.”

She doodles a few stars next to her name and connects them to form a turtle. Gerry examines it and nods.

“Perfect,” he declares. Sabina laughs.

“I should probably get started,” she tells him. “But if I stutter while I read the first chapter, I think I might just die on the spot.”

“You could walk it off,” Gerry says, confident. Sabina laughs again.

“Alright,” she says. She stands up. “Guess I’ve got to get started, then.”

“Good luck,” Gerry says. He runs off to where Tim and Mike are sitting and shoots her a thumbs up. Sabina smiles and clears her throat.

“First of all, I want to thank everyone here for coming to my launch,” Sabina says. “And of course, I have to thank Radiance Books for hosting us. Everyone here has been so wonderful to me. This launch really couldn’t have happened without them. It wouldn’t have been possible without my editor, Andrei, either. Thank you all for believing me. And thank you to Gerry, who drew this wonderful cover. He’s said so many sweet things about my writing since we’ve known each other, and I’ve got to say, it feels great. Whatever I write next, I know I’ll always have at least one fan outside of my family, and that’s him.”

Sabina pauses as a few members of the audience laugh. One of them is Tim. Gerry elbows him in the side.

“And thank you, of course, to my family,” Sabina adds. “Especially my father, who knew immediately how important this was to me. It really warms my heart to see so many people interested in the world of _Maretta the Star-Catcher._ This book has been a big part of my life for so long. In a way, I feel like these words have always been with me and this is just my chance to finally share it with the world. Grief is such a heavy topic, and I know just how hard it can be to deal with at a young age. I wanted to write this book as a map for my younger self to show her that no matter how dark the world seemed, and no matter how terrible the fall, we all, always find our way back home.”

Sabina smiles for a moment, then opens one of the books that sits beside her.

“From the moment she was born, Maretta’s family knew she was meant for the stars,” Sabina reads. Her voice is loud and clear. “Her mother used to tell her that she was born with the same fire in her veins as the comets that had flown by the night she was born. And they just can’t wait to meet her. Maretta’s mother insists that every time she walks into the sky, the stars swarm her.” Sabina changes her pitch slightly, a high and nervous voice of stars. “‘Lucelly,’ they would cry out. ‘Lucelly, we love you, but where is our Maretta?’ And Maretta’s mum always tells them the same thing.”

Sabina pauses for a moment. The crowd’s listening intently, even the kids. When she speaks again, her voice is patient and kind.

“‘Maretta has been wishing on you all day, dear stars,’ Mum would say. ‘Can’t you hear her? I would bring her with me if I could, but a sky this big is no place for a little girl.’

“Maretta thinks Mum’s story is the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. She knows that there is magic in being loved by creatures that know you by name alone. The stars can only glimpse at her life, just as she can only watch them twinkle from the ground below. But somehow, that small window is all they need.”

Gerry turns his head to see if everyone behind him’s enjoying this as much as he is. They are, but the shelves past them are starting to look strangely labyrinthine. Gerry frowns and stands up slowly. Sabina’s still talking. He shoots her an apologetic glance, and then another at Tim and Mike, and then starts quietly sneaking away.

It only takes him a moment to spot Helen hiding behind one of the shelves. She’s wearing a dress of stars that glimmers strangely in the light. She offers him a smile.

“Am I allowed to be proud of you?” Helen asks. 

“You don’t need to be,” Gerry says.

Helen nods. There’s a book in her hands. She puts it back in the shelf gently, like she’s worried she’ll scratch it, somehow, even though her nails look unusually blunt.

“You’re so good at being human,” Helen says. “I think Michael was jealous of that. He wanted to be a door. A thing. If he couldn’t be human, at least then he could be free of the nostalgia of one. But I am a door. There is no _want._ What I want to be is _Helen._ And that… may take some effort, oh my part. A door, after all, simply exists. But a name only remains if there is someone around to use it.”

“Helen,” Gerry says. Helen smiles.

“Thank you, Gerry,” she says. “Transformation can be so lonely. I don’t think Helen would have survived it without you.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Gerry tells her, though he’s not sure how much Helen survived anything. “But either way, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“You’ve certainly got more than enough to share,” Helen says. 

Gerry snorts.

“Michael promised he would not hurt people you cared about,” she continues. “No matter who I am, I don’t think I like being thought of as someone who would break a promise. I was only trying to make him better.”

“Being more of a monster doesn’t make someone _better,”_ Gerry tells her. Helen shrugs.

“It’s what saved me,” she says.

Gerry hesitates. 

“This isn’t new information, darling,” Helen adds gently. “You’ve known since the moment you met me I was something heartless. But you wanted a friend, and I had just eaten a lonely man, so we got along quite well despite it all.”

“And Helen isn’t lonely?” Gerry asks. Helen smiles.

“No,” she says. “You’re not. You don’t have to settle for a bad friend.”

Gerry stares at her. It’s a little pathetic how much it feels like a revelation. He’s… not sure what to say to that. Gerry knows he had spent a lot more time in Michael’s company than her’s, but hadn’t really thought much about why. 

“I’d feel guilty if I just left you,” Gerry says.

“Helen stopped feeling guilt a long time ago,” Helen tells him.

“Well, _I_ didn’t,” Gerry replies, scowling. Helen shakes her head slightly. “Where the hell have you been, anyway?”

“Watching the skipping-stone,” Helen replies. “And her Seeker. Would you like to know where they’ve been?”

Gerry sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me.”

“The Seeker has taken a break from her game to climb a tree,” Helen informs him. “There is a cat in one of the branches. The child it belongs to is weeping, and so she has decided it is her duty to save them both. Daisy has never been fond of cats.”

Gerry can’t help but let out a laugh at that. 

“And Basira?” he asks.

“Where else would you find a creature like her?” Helen laughs. It stops abruptly, as if she’s suddenly remembered to put herself on mute. “She’s by the water. She was looking for the story-spinner, but they haven’t found each other quite yet. For the moment, Basira Hussain has nothing to do but watch the tide roll in.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow.

“That’s all?” he asks.

“Do you need more?” Helen replies. Her eyes roll like marbles. “There’s a family. They’re having a picnic. One of the children is playing music on her phone. Basira finds herself humming along. The lyrics are quite catchy. I think she might be enjoying herself.”

“So nothing weird’s going on with her,” Gerry says. “No Web?”

“She is the something weird, darling,” Helen replies. She pauses. “Do you remember Agnes’ tape?”

Gerry blinks.

“The one she left for Gertrude?” he asks. “You heard it?”

“I did,” Helen smiles. “I was listening with you. The tapes aren’t kind, you know, when you listen alone.”

“Yeah?” Gerry says. “Well, good thing you were looking out for me, then.”

He pauses for a moment.

“I met her once, actually,” he admits. “Agnes, I mean. It was a while back. Before mum—before Agnes—well, before a lot of things happened. Didn’t do anything, though. Just lit my cigarette and told me to keep warm.”

“I’m sure it sounded more impressive when she said it,” Helen says.

“She had this way about her,” Gerry says. “It was like—she looked so _earnest._ And I was having trouble with a shitty lighter I had so she just… walked up to me. Touched the tip of it with her finger and said ‘I hope this warms your soul.’ And for a moment, it did. Only time I ever really thought about the Desolation as a good thing, but, well, none of the others are like her.”

“I’m sure they aren’t,” Helen says.

“I dunno,” Gerry says. “That wasn’t a metaphor or anything. It was just weird to find out she was a person, underneath it all, you know? The Cult had hyped her up so much as this great destroyer, but she looked like the kind of person who’d apologize to a table for bumping into it. But…”

Gerry looks at Helen and sighs.

“Still almost ended the world, though,” he says. “Or, thought she might, at least. I kind of hate that this is how she ended up. It’s not fair that she lived her whole life being made into a monster, and that was her only way out.”

“I think Agnes was selfish,” Helen says. Gerry stares. “She saved the world because she would miss the comforts of it. There is no scorched earth because she went and fell in love with the flowers.”

“I don’t know if that’s really _selfish,”_ Gerry says.

“Destroying the Earth would have fed her kind for centuries,” Helen insists. “It could have been a good thing, if you were looking at it the wrong way. And then Gertrude made her doubt her purpose. So she died, and now we all can have coffee, just as She intended.”

“I can’t drink coffee,” Gerry reminds her. Helen raises an eyebrow past her face. “So—what? Am I your person? Is that what you’re saying? I stopped you from ending it all?”

Helen pauses for a moment.

“You know,” she says. “I actually came to give you a message from Annabelle. She wants to congratulate you on a job well done. Not a lot of room for subtlety in the end of the world. She might be rather happy with how things have turned out.”

“But you aren’t,” Gerry says.

“Don’t think of me as someone with such comprehensive goals,” Helen says. “The world will end one day and I will enjoy it. Perhaps I will even help cause it. I certainly have the means. Or, perhaps I took Manuela’s sun to stop the end. The Church is dead, after all. Whoever comes next won’t be able to mark their Archivist by bringing them to a house of worship. Unless they journey into me and find the sun, they’ll have to rely on luck alone.”

“And the Coffin’s the easiest way to get marked by the Buried?” Gerry asks. “Daisy’s still the only one who’s left it.”

“I wouldn’t call it the easiest,” Helen says. “Just the most moveable.”

Gerry stares at her.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” he admits. “You want the world to end. I know you do. But you’ll—you’re going to stop that? For _me?”_

“Don’t look for meaning where you won’t find any,” Helen tells him. “Today, I don’t want you to die. Isn’t that enough?”

No, it’s not. Helen laughs at his expression.

“One day,” she says. “You will be nothing more than a memory. For you, it will feel like a lifetime. For me, it will happen in the time it takes to close my door.”

“And that’s when the world ends,” Gerry guesses. “Once you don’t have to look me in the eye after.”

“After you become a memory,” Helen continues. She’s ignoring him. “You will become a fairy tale. Whether or not you ever existed will stop becoming something that matters. Avatars will speak of the time some foolish Director thought himself important enough to rule over everything, and they will remember he had been stopped by a group of humans, or avatars attempting to live like one. The people you spent your life saving will have had children and grandchildren, all of who have gone on to contribute to the world in ways you will never get the chance to witness. And then, like you, they will die.”

“And then the world will end,” Gerry says.

“And then the world will end,” Helen agrees. “I’m sure someone just as meddlesome as you will try to stop it. Maybe they’ll succeed. But the world only has to end once for it to last forever. And it will. But until then, there will be coffee. And there will be cats begging to rub their faces against your warm limbs. And random encounters that turn into love, and whatever else Agnes saved the world for.”

There’s a clap of applause that turns into a chorus. Gerry peaks his head out from the bookshelves. The reading’s done. Sabina looks so proud of herself. She catches his eyes and smiles at him. Gerry smiles back, then turns to face Helen.

“Well,” he says. “I think I can live with that.”

And just like that, the world moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jon wanting to have a career about dinosaurs is a reference to pyrites/tumblr user gerrydelano's headcanon about Jon having a special interest in dinosaurs, and his fics two ships passing & pharos by right, where he used to work at a museum. I personally have no idea what Jon's going to do after this, but I'm sure he'll have fun  
> I'm going to mark the series as completed for now, but I might write another fic about Melanie's new youtube channel. I have the start of it, but it's more difficult to write than I expected.  
> until then, though thank you everyone who's read this! it makes me happy to hear how many people have loved it. This is the longest thing i've ever written, and now, it's finished! How wild is that?

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ofdreamsanddoodles


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